


An Ever-Fixed Mark

by idelthoughts



Category: Hornblower (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-02 21:47:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2827208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idelthoughts/pseuds/idelthoughts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's three weeks to Gibraltar to deliver the redcoats to their new post, and then life aboard the <i>Indefatigable</i> can return to normal.  Or so Horatio hopes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sailorly love on the open seas and ridiculous naval battles. Brace yourselves.
> 
> As always, all my nautical knowledge is about as accurate as the science on Star Trek.

“We’re in the worst of it now, sir!”    
  
Mr. Soames, the sailing master, cupped his hands to make himself heard over the howling wind, and then made a hasty grab for his bicorne before it was snatched away in the gale.    
  
_Indefatigable_ rocked hard as a rogue wave thrust her high into the growing darkness.  She crashed over the crest and dropped with sickening speed, and the bowsprit disappeared into the water before she righted herself.  The masts drew dizzy circles on the heavy clouds above, her rigging taught and humming in the wind.  
  
Hornblower nodded to acknowledge, too cold to speak without his teeth chattering.  He was a mere minutes from the end of his watch, when he could crawl to his berth and finally warm himself.  Ice water ran down his neck, filled his boots, and each gust of wind was like a stab.  
  
Eight bells struck the end of the second dog watch and the start of first, and Lieutenant Eccles appeared on the gangway, having obviously been delaying below decks as long as possible to stay out of the driving storm.  He relieved Hornblower with terse haste.  
  
“Get some rest while you can,” Eccles told him.    
  
If the storm worsened, it would be all hands to try and keep her from disaster, and he was already exhausted and numb in all extremities.  He gave a quick salute and hurried below.  
  
The wardroom was packed, full of red-coated infantrymen with clashing green-tinged faces.  Hornblower averted his eyes from a young man vomiting into a bucket, feeling his own stomach cringe in warning.  Usually his seasickness faded in the week after leaving port, but the storm was testing his hard-won equilibrium.  He hurried on to the forward berths, eager to change and try to sleep for however long his duty permitted.  
  
He slid into the cabin as quiet as possible, but the rolling deck pitched him to the side unexpectedly, and the door slammed shut.  Bracegirdle and Mallory were on watch, but Archie, tucked in his hammock, opened one eye a fraction to glance at him, and then shut it again.    
  
“You look like a drowned rat.”  
  
“And you’re already dry and resting.”  Horatio threw off his great coat and began to pry at his uniform coat with numb fingers.  
  
“Mallory relieved me early, bless his hard little heart, for the low cost of two days grog rations.”  Archie gave up the pretense of sleep and watched Horatio struggle with his damp wool and brass buttons with stiff, numb fingers for a moment before he sat up and climbed from his hammock.  “All right, give over.”  
  
Vexed and too cold to argue, Horatio allowed Archie to unbutton him and help him strip off the stiff, clinging uniform.  He shivered uncontrollably, his limbs a pasty white, and gratefully accepted the further help getting into his dry shirt and breeches.  Archie frowned at him, and then grabbed the woollen blanket from Horatio’s hammock and wrapped it around him for good measure, chafing his arms vigorously.    
  
“Your lips are blue.”    
  
“I’m not surprised,” he stuttered through chattering teeth.    
  
Archie took Horatio’s hands in his, cupped them to his face and blew on them.  The heat of Archie’s breath was scorching and painful against his icy skin, but the tingling pain was worth the relief as feeling returned.  
  
“Have you seen the lobsters?  They’re making a mess of the wardroom.  I saw one throw up on Mr. Chadd’s boots, and he looked like he was going to throw the bastard overboard.”  Archie grinned at him, and the smile pressed against his fingertips as Archie blew on them again.    
  
Horatio grimaced.  Three hundred seasick soldiers crammed into the already tight quarters on the _Indy_ was an unpleasant thought.  The sooner they made Gibraltar and relieved themselves of the burden, the happier the ship would be.  Three long weeks if they had favourable weather; much longer if they did not.  
  
“Going to join the landlubbers leaning over the side?”  
  
Horatio swallowed down on a passing moment of nausea and pulled his hands back from Archie’s warm grip, suddenly embarrassed by his attentions.  He wished his infirmity wasn’t so obvious.  He’d give anything for Archie’s ability to ride the storm as though it were nothing more than an energetic dance.  
  
“Horatio, I’m teasing.”  He shoved him on the shoulder. “Come on, give them back, you twit.”    
  
He reached out and directed Horatio to sit on the sea chest.  He sat himself beside him and took Horatio’s hands, rubbing each to restore blood flow.  The ship moaned around them, seasick herself, the faint light from the lantern swinging and making the shadows dance wild and free.  He watched the light play across Archie’s features, one moment catching the faint golden bristle indicating a needed shave, the next softening and blending until he seemed nothing more than a young boy.    
  
His shivering eased beneath the blanket, and Archie looked up at him from his studied work.  “Your colour is better now.”  
  
“Yes.”  He had a fanciful notion that it was the warmth of Archie’s good will that had done it more than anything else.  Silly ideas.  “Thank you.”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
The ship rolled, jerking them both off-balance and forcing them to break apart and anchor themselves before they pitched to the deck.  Archie stood.    
  
“Going to be a hell of a slog through this gale.”  
  
“Yes.”  Once righted, he tucked his hands between his knees to replace the lost warmth.    
  
With the ease of long practice, Archie climbed back into his swaying hammock. 

“Goodnight, Horatio.”  
  
Horatio paused, holding the blanket tight around him to hold out the chill.  After a moment, he did the same, too exhausted to pursue a meal.  He’d beg a biscuit from the galley before he returned to above decks for his next shift.    
  
***  
  
The ocean beat at the _Indefatigable_ while they slept, but when Horatio woke the storm had let up as fast as it had begun, and the creaking timbers sang their usual easy, rhythmic chorus.  Archie slept on, but the other hammocks hung empty—he hadn’t been asleep for long, the same watch was still ongoing.  His irritation at waking while still so tired stole any comfort from his relaxed pose, and drove him further into wakefulness.  He turned in his hammock, but quickly gave up and climbed out.  
  
He was properly hungry now, so snuck from the cabin and made his way through the mess to the galley.  Many of the red coats were still clustered around the tables, leaning on their mates, or heads on the table, having fallen asleep where they sat in their seasick misery.  Their lack of regimented precision was a testament to the severity of it.  Horatio wagered the commanding officers were hiding elsewhere to preserve their dignity, and only on their return would the infantrymen scrape themselves together into their usual stiff lines.  For all the demands that the navy placed upon her officers and crew, he was still grateful for the freedom of movement allowed him in his off-watch time.  The soldiers seemed ordered even in their so-called free time.  
  
The cook was surly at Horatio’s request, but eventually handed over two hard biscuits and a bit of cold beef, which he took with a gracious thanks.  Regardless of rank and order, keeping on the friendly side of the man with control of the rations was a reasonable tactic.     
  
The wardroom was occupied by the red coat officers, so he scanned the mess in annoyance for any space among the men.  Nearby, one of the soldiers noticed his intent and shuffled aside, clearing a spot for him.  He was reluctant, but refusing the offer would be rude, so wedged himself between a man asleep on his folded arms and the accommodating soldier.  
  
“Thank you,” Horatio said, placing his tin plate on the table.  
  
“No problem.”  He held out his hand.  “Second Lieutenant John Kelly.  But just John will do.”    
  
He took the offered hand and shook it. 

“Midshipman Hornblower.”  He delayed a moment, then added reluctantly, “Horatio.”    
  
It was more contact than he’d had with any of the red coats in the past four days of the voyage; they were an aloof bunch, preferring their own company while disdaining the naval officers at their work, chuckled insults poorly concealed.  It mostly stayed in the territory of competition between professions, though resentment simmered now and again.  It was many more long weeks before they would be rid of each other.  
  
John eyed the food—no doubt he was hungry now that the seas had calmed, especially if he had been as ill as his mates.  On a generous impulse, Horatio offered him one of the dry biscuits, and John took it gratefully.  He took a bite, chewing slowly, and shook his head with a rueful smile.  
  
“I don’t know how you do it.  What I wouldn’t give for solid land right now.”  
  
“You grow used to it.”  Horatio took a bite of salty beef, and then shrugged.  “After a time,” he allowed.  His own seasickness in sheltered Spithead still haunted him, but he carefully hid his remembered embarrassment.    
  
“My brother is in the navy.  Last I heard he was on _Glory_ , headed for South America.”  He smiled broadly.  “My family took the old adage seriously—one for the army, one for the navy, one for the church.”  He took another bite of biscuit.  
  
Though his melancholic moods usually drove him to seek out solitude, Horatio found he was eager for speak with someone who was not a shipmate now that the opportunity presented itself.  Six months into their voyage, most conversational gambits had been covered more than once, stories wearing thin with frequent use.     
  
“How did they decide?  A lottery?  Draw straws?”  
  
“I assure you, Peter is the only one of us God would even consider having," John said with a laugh.  "And Miles was the elder, he chose first.”  He glanced around the mess.  “Though I don’t think I envy him any longer, after this trip.”  
  
“Oy, shut it,” groused the soldier, a lieutenant by his stripes, on Horatio’s other side, not lifting his head from his arms.  “Find somewhere else to witter on if you’re going to gossip like old women.”  
  
 John made a rude gesture to the man that went unnoticed, and Horatio had to work at hiding his amusement.  John noticed it anyway, his eyes twinkling, and he jerked his head to ask if Horatio wanted to join him elsewhere.  Horatio nodded, and they rose from the table to walk, going above decks into the fresh air and away from the smell of too many men in cramped quarters.  First priority would be cleaning out the post-storm carnage below decks soon as the sun rose.  The unpleasant task wouldn’t help the tension between the crew and their passengers.    
  
The night was clean and crisp now that the storm had swept away, and Horatio took a cleansing breath.  On the quarterdeck, Soames was still at the wheel.  Apparently the old sailing master was not ready to leave his post, even though he was into his third straight watch.  Horatio was certain he believed no one else properly capable of sailing _Indy_ , and even on the calmest water he would grouse and reluctantly hand over the wheel, giving long notes on the things the watchman should be on alert for.    
  
Eccles acknowledged him briefly, but gave a curious second glance at John emerging from the gangway behind him, before returning to his conversation with Soames.  Horatio was frequently restless and sleepless when off duty, and it was common for the other officers to see him touring around the ship, seeking quiet moments to himself.  Horatio in the company of another, never mind a red coat, was a rarer sight.  While friendly with his fellow officers, Archie was usually the only one with whom he would share his private time.  But they all had their quirks which, in order to survive their cramped lifestyle, they all politely ignored, and so they left Horatio to his wanderings.  
  
The sails were full, and the _Indy_ was making steady, reliable progress in the southerly wind to her Mediterranean destination.  They found a spot near the bow on a stack of coiled cables, the watch crew giving them space to relax and talk.    
  
John was as loquacious as Archie, chatting happily to Horatio about his tiny Devon village home, his brothers and the letters he received—one bragging of his conquests in exotic ports, the other praying for safety and their immortal souls.  He didn’t seem bothered by Horatio’s lack of conversational skills, but was content with his continued attention, and looked pleased when he managed to coax a laugh from Horatio.  
  
“How long have you served?”  John asked.  
  
“Two years.”  John’s stories of a loud, colourful family had made him think on his own home, of the quiet life as the son of a country doctor, his mother long passed, and the formal handshake that had served as his own goodbye when he left for _Justinian_.  
  
“Girl waiting for you at home?”  
  
Horatio blushed in the darkness.  His inexperience was hardly a secret aboard, despite a few half-hearted blustering lies, and mercifully the midshipmen found poor amusement in teasing him over it.  Certainly Archie pointedly interrupting to deflect the conversation had helped, and they’d said little since of his silence or quiet departure when the topic came up.  
  
When John shifted next to him, Horatio realized that he’d left his answer far too long to reply in any casual manner.  He toyed briefly with the idea of a lie, but that seemed more painful than truth.     
  
“No, no girl.”    
  
“Mm.”  John nodded and settled himself.  “Me neither.”    
  
The order was called to shorten sail, and the sounds of bare feet pattering on deck and the rattle of the rigging tackle took the place, the relayed orders passing from the quarter deck to the tops of the masts. John shifted back to rest his back on the bulkhead beside Horatio, shoulder against his, head tipped back to watch the work aloft as the crew brought the ship to heel in the freshening wind.  
  
“It’s still amazing,” John murmured.  
  
Horatio watched the black dots of the men working the canvas and rope with expert ease of a crew long since drilled to perfection, trying to imagine the precise, methodical task seen through inexperienced eyes.  When seen without understanding of the mathematical nature of the system, there was magic in so many men working in concert, taming a machine with the power to carry six hundred safely through all weather, through fierce battle.  It was amazing.  He felt pride that his ship, even though he was all but third midshipman aboard her, should be so appreciated.  
  
When the job was done and he looked away from the mast tops, he found John watching him with keen interest. 

“What?”  
  
“I wish,” he said, choosing his words, “that I could look upon my regiment with as much love as you have for your ship.”    
  
Horatio carefully inspected John’s expression, rolled the words over in his mind, looking for any hint of mockery, but found none.  He nodded slowly, allowing the truth.  There was no shame in it.  
  
“There is nowhere I’d rather be.”  
  
“I am…”  he sighed, trailing off.  He made a fierce attempt to smile, but it was a poor show.  “I am envious.”  He glanced down toward the quarter deck.  “I bet you’ll be stood there, in charge of this enterprise in short order.”  
  
On the quarter deck, Eccles and Soames were dark shapes in the gloom.  Horatio pictured himself, a lieutenant’s uniform—or even, if he dared hope it, a captain’s braided epaulettes on his shoulders.  The ambition burned so bright within him that he felt powered by it, energized and awake in the brisk night air.  
  
“I would like that,” Horatio admitted.  He looked back to John, who had fallen into a silent reverie.  He was reluctant to pry into the man’s thoughts, but he felt compelled after all the fine companionship he had offered this evening.  “You do not—you would rather be elsewhere?”  
  
At length, he shook his head. 

“No.  No, for then I would not have had the pleasure of meeting you.”  He glanced over, and then patted Horatio on the knee.  “You are excellent company.”  
  
Horatio very much doubted he was, with his halting conversational abilities and stumbling hesitations at every turn, but John’s sincerity moved him, and truthfully this evening had done him well.  He felt lighter than he had in many months.    
  
“You as well.”  
  
John took his hand from Horatio’s knee, his fingers brushing Horatio’s thigh as his hand slid away, before he tucked his hands in his lap, eyes large and dark in the dim light of the lanterns.    
  
Horatio smiled tentatively, and John’s returned smile was dazzling.    
  
“I’ve seen nothing of the ship but that godforsaken gun deck and the mess,” John said.  “And I wager I won’t have a moment free once the men stop turning their insides out.  My entire platoon is down.”  He gave Horatio a hopeful look.  “Show me?”  
  
His joints had gone stiff with their long rest on deck, and it would be good to move.   He rose, and then extended a hand to help John up. 

“Certainly.”    
  
He felt a boyish glee at making a friend who was content to lark about the ship with him, to climb and explore as though they were children playing at sailors and soldiers, forgetting for a while the men they were becoming and the demands of duty and service.  He considered getting Archie to come join in their fun, but decided he’d best let him rest.    
  
  
***  
  
In the manger, Horatio proudly pointed out the gamey old hen that he’d bought with Archie.  They were saving her for Christmas dinner, now that she’d failed to produce any further eggs.   Not the choicest of meats, but even the thought of it made Horatio’s mouth water, having spent so long on shipboard rations with only a scrap or two from the lieutenant’s personal stores making their way to the midshipmen’s ranks.  
  
John leaned over the wall to gaze at a fat goat lying in the narrow stall, idly trying to feed her a bit of straw.  Her lips mouthed and twisted, and she turned her head farther and farther to get at it, until she pawed the boards and raised herself up.  John pulled his hand back quickly as her teeth snapped and she claimed her hard-won bit of straw, and Horatio laughed at his chagrin.  
  
“You mentioned Archie before,” John said, rubbing his hand.  
  
“Midshipman Kennedy.”  It felt too bald an answer, so he added, “my friend.”  
  
It was too poor a word to describe the depth of his regard for Archie, but John nodded and seemed to understand. 

“You are lucky to have a friend with you.”  
  
“I am.”    
  
The thought of _Justinian_ without Archie would have been too much to even consider.  And here on the _Indefatigable_ , even though she was a much happier ship, Archie was a strong brace at his back that he wasn’t sure he could do without.  He knew someday they’d be sent to different ships when duty demanded it, but he tried not to dwell on it.  
  
John jostled him with an elbow. 

“And where do you go for peace and quiet on this godforsaken ship, and find some privacy?”    
  
He was shy now, growing more subdued as they toured.  Fair enough, the hour was late, and not everyone was spurred by the nervous energy that Horatio struggled with.    
  
It was a curious question, but he bid John follow him, and they descended another gangway.  He knew every inch of this ship, had literally crawled through her stem to stern, and knew every quiet place there was.  If John wished to escape the crush of humanity aboard ship for a moment, he could assist.    
  
Most of the midshipman hated it, but if Lieutenant Chadd found their knowledge of the ship lacking, he would send them below with the furious instruction not come back until they could tell him the precise layout of each timber.  But after his first tour through the bones of the ship, Horatio had been captivated.  The raw construction of it was fascinating, her great ribs like those of a whale, and he’d taken any excuse to find the nooks and crannies that her great superstructure afforded.  He took them down to the orlop deck, and Horatio led them through twists and turns until they found a little bolt hole among the coiled cables, the corner of the room hidden away like a secret cave.  The sound of the ship was a steady hum down here, muffled by fibre and coil, and Horatio crawled over to make a seat on some heavy cable.  John followed, and there was enough room for them to settle comfortably across from each other, hidden away in the gloom.  
  
Horatio sighed.  He loved to be so far inside the ship, as though he could become part of her.  He was warmed by John’s company, the simple pleasure in their boyish adventure a needed change from the grinding monotony of shipboard life; no matter how he loved the sea, it could wear on a soul.  
  
But unlike his own ease, John had grown agitated.  He was looking at him with wide eyes, and he licked his lips, glancing over his shoulder and then back to Horatio.  Horatio saw his hand flutter against his leg, and it was shaking.  He frowned, leaning forward in concern.    
  
“Are you alright?” he asked.  
  
In a one jerky move, John answered him by leaning in to meet Horatio, and bumped his face against him in a hard, clumsy kiss.  His lips trembled against Horatio’s, his breath sharp and short through his nose.  
  
Oh.  He had not expected this.  
  
John pulled back a space, his eyes fluttering open for a moment, and Horatio gaped at him, too stunned to pull away.  Then John leaned in again, this time slower, and kissed Horatio properly.    
  
The warm mouth on his, the gentle pressure stroking against the sensitive skin of his lips, the sound of shaking breath, all of it sat like a weight on Horatio’s chest. He did not know how to respond.  He thought he might speak, but when his lips parted the kiss grew deeper, and it no longer seemed necessary.  Shock turned to something more complex.  
  
It was his first kiss, and he had never expected such an experience to be deep in the bowels of his ship, cottoned in by rope and timbers.  With a lobster, of all people. Horatio raised his hands and touched John’s face, needing to know that this experience was real, that it had depth and form beyond the press of lips.  His touch encouraged John, and before he knew it John had pressed him back against the old cables, climbing over him, desperate and fierce.    
  
John was shaking as he kissed him, so much that it was a wonder his teeth did not rattle in his head.  At length he pressed his forehead to Horatio’s and stilled, breathing hard.    
  
“Horatio.”  
  
He swallowed, sure he had no voice, but he tried anyway. 

“Yes.”  
  
“I—I want—“  He stopped, whatever boldness he’d scraped together failing him.  He threw his arms around Horatio and buried his head in Horatio’s neck, his weight half on him, half braced on the uneven rope against Horatio’s back.  “God forgive me.”  His voice was muffled in the dark blue wool of Horatio’s uniform, John’s own bright red a stark contrast, fairly glowing in the murky, skint light.  
  
Surely this wasn’t real, Horatio thought.  He brought his arms around John to hold him.  The cloth was real enough, as were the heaving ribs and taught spine beneath.  The hot air of John’s breath against his neck was all too real.  He gave a start when it was no longer just breath, but the damp feel of tongue and lips moving against the skin below his jaw.  His surprised grunt sounded breathy, and he clutched tight to John.  
  
“Let me, please,” John murmured against his neck, and his hands slid underneath Horatio’s jacket, tugging at his shirt.  “Please, let me, please.”  
  
At the first touch against his burning skin, Horatio gave his garbled, ineloquent agreement.  He had no clear path ahead, but he was driven on by instinct, mirroring John’s movements and tugging John’s shirt free of his breeches, sliding his hands and feeling sweaty skin, flexing and warm.  
  
John pressed against him and smoothed his hands over whatever skin he could reach, and Horatio shifted his hips until the movement was so right and perfect that he could only hold onto John, pushing up, both of them rocking together until very soon Horatio jerked and stiffened, mouth open in as much surprise as pleasure, wide with shock, while John sobbed in another breath, grinding against his leg in desperation, then coming to a stop with a choked noise, his hips jerking twice before stilling.  
  
They stayed pressed together, both trembling and breathing hard.  It was an awkward position; Horatio’s back ached where the uneven cabling dug into his spine, and the smeared stickiness on his groin cooled and itched.  John stayed tucked in the crook of Horatio’s neck, unable or unwilling to lift his head.    
  
He brought a hand to the back of John’s neck, feeling the sweaty skin and tangled queue, and John sighed.  They lay together, the moment caught in amber.  His mind was curiously blank.  
  
It wasn’t until a large wave caused _Indefatigable_ to shudder and roll more than her usual cant that Horatio came back to himself and their surroundings.  He nudged at John, who levered himself off Horatio with haste.  
  
Horatio wet his lips.  They felt thick and swollen. 

“We should get back.” His voice was rough, and he cleared his throat.    
  
John nodded reluctantly.    
  
  
***  
  
  
They made their way in silence back out over the cables and up through the ship’s gangways until they reached the lower gun deck, where John’s sleep roll was set among the resting bodies of his platoon.  Among the weary men, they said a stiff goodbye.  
  
“Thank you for the tour,” John said, no hint in his tone of anything more than simple, polite manners.  
  
“My pleasure,” Horatio returned with a stiff bow.  
  
Horatio turned and left, hurrying up the gangway towards the midshipmen’s cabin.  His mind was full; so many whirling thoughts, but so little of it forming any clarity.  Even so, the tingling satisfaction in his release dampened his agitation, and he floated above himself, removed one step from reality.  
  
“Do you ever sleep?”  
  
He startled like a hunted rabbit, coming face to face with Archie, who was straightening his stock and preparing for his next watch.  His languor disappeared in a dump of adrenaline.  
  
In that moment, he was certain he had a flag hoisted and waving for all to read should they look at him, that declared what he had just done.  He kicked off his boots in haste and climbed into his hammock, avoiding Archie.     
  
“About to do so now,” he muttered into the canvas.  
  
He couldn’t look at Archie.  He couldn’t say anything about what just happened, could never.  It came to him in an abrupt flash of understanding—and why hadn’t he thought of it before?—that what he had done would see him hanged if anyone found out.  It was no wonder John had been shaking with fear when he’d taken the foolish risk of kissing him.  How had he known Horatio wouldn’t hit him, drag him to the nearest officer, and throw him in the brig?    
  
How had he known, when Horatio himself had not?  
  
If someone who barely knew him at all could tell, what did Archie think of him?  Come to that, what did he think of himself? He threw an arm across his eyes and sighed, trying to blot out his thoughts.  
  
 Archie’s curiosity at Horatio’s behaviour was a living presence in the cabin with them, but eventually he sighed. 

“Alright then.  I have the watch.”  He’d grown accustomed to Horatio’s moods, no doubt.  He left without another word.  
  
Horatio rubbed his hands over his face.  He grimaced as he shifted and the cloth at his groin pulled and unstuck from his tacky flesh.  He hopped up and set to a hasty change, before anyone should return and catch him at it.  He would have to wash them at the earliest opportunity, he thought, rolling them and cramming the wad into his sea chest.    
  
He sat on the sea chest, trapping his secrets inside it, trying to forget, but unable to.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Archie, it's always been like this, but for Horatio, things have changed.

Archie stood at relaxed attention on the quarter deck as the grey gloom was lightening into sickly dawn.  He did not mind the morning watch, though sharing it with Mr. Bolton meant it was dull—he did not hold with chatting to the midshipmen, content instead to shout at the crew when his sharp eye spotted idleness or inattention.    
  
“Sail off the port bow!”    
  
The cry came down from the main mast, relayed from amidships, and he grabbed the spyglass from his pocket.  He scanned, looking for any smudge of white, while Bolton did the same by his side.  Finally, a tiny dot.  The ship was hull down on the horizon, the barest tips of her sails visible.  
  
“There, sir.”  He pointed, and Bolton tracked his direction, then turned to the main deck.  
  
“What is she?” he bellowed.  
  
“French, sir, by the look of her.”

No surprise; they neared Brest, and from here on they would be running the gauntlet until they reached Gibraltar.  Spain turned a blind eye while the British and French battered at each other for jealous control of the strategic waters, and it was a matter of time before they encountered some ship or other.  The storm had blown them closer to shore than their original set course, making a sighting even more likely.  The wind favoured the other ship for a straight run at them, while _Indefatigable_ was forced to cut at an angle on their southwest tack.    
  
A panting sailor who had scrambled from the rigging slid to a halt at the quarter deck to make his report. 

“An hour, sir, maybe hour ’n a half, and she’ll be on us.”    
  
Bolton nodded and dismissed the man, then turned to Archie. 

“Mr Kennedy, my compliments to the chief steward, and will he ready rations immediately.”  
  
Archie saluted and dashed below.  As soon as he alerted the chief steward, all knew that a battle was coming; a solid meal in their bellies would carry them through it, and word passed through the ship within minutes.  The infantry officers were fed in the converted holds that served as their berths once the sailors had been taken care of.    
  
The ship buzzed, and in no time came the order to beat to quarters.  The drums pounded and pipes screamed, followed by the patter of bare feet on deck as the crew took their stations.  Archie felt the familiar state of battle readiness fall upon him, sharpening his senses and setting him vibration on the knife’s edge of excitement.  The ship still stalked them with full sails and the wind at her back, and the lookout had identified her as _Bretagne_.  In twenty minutes or less, depending on how the wind held, the cannons would roar on each side.  He held his hands tight to his side to keep himself from gripping the quarter deck rail with unseemly enthusiasm.  
  
On the main deck, Horatio emerged from the gangway, and took his station amidships.  For a moment, Archie was distracted from the impending battle.  His friend had been troubled before, but now there was no sign of it in his wiry body, only the tense anxiety as he readied for battle like the rest of them.  He smiled as Horatio tried to hide it with his stiff stance, but his weight shifted from side to side, fairly dancing with excitement, hands twitched while clasped at his back.  Horatio’s mind was probably already whirring with his own calculations of wind, the ships movement, and Archie bet he had probably sorted down to the second when the first broadside would fire.  At times he envied Horatio his skills, wishing he could be half so brave and clearheaded when in the thick of things.  
  
“Captain on deck!”  
  
Archie jumped to attention as Pellew took the quarterdeck, and he was dismissed from his watch post to take his station with his gun crew on the upper gun deck.  He scrambled down, readying his crew with gruff orders, checking that each station was complete.  One foolish sailor waved his flint with too much recklessness, letting it trail over a powder packet before Archie ripped it from his hand and reamed him out, handing it back only when another sailor took the place of the idiot.  
  
“I’ll beat you meself once this is done,” he heard the mate spit out to the cowering sailor, and Archie continued the inspection of his line of cannons.  
  
“Open the gun ports!”  came the cry down the gangway.  He relayed it, and the pulleys creaked when, as one, the ports opened.  
  
“Run out your guns!”  Archie cried.    
  
After a tense moment, the ship listing with a change of course to starboard, and then the order was given.    
  
“Fire!”  Archie screamed, his voice cracking.  
  
The rest of it was lost in the bitter taste of gunpowder and the deafening roar of the cannons.  Run them out, fire, reload, and then again.  Each time the ship rocked with the force,  and then a different shake, like a dog with fleas, as the broadside was returned and the _Indefatigable_ took her damage.  A cannonball screamed through the side sending a shower of splinters, decimating a gun crew and cutting a man in two right beside Archie. Archie threw himself aside, falling back to hit a timber with stunning force.  Shaking himself and scrambling back up, Archie grabbed a man and dragged him to the abandoned cannon, swabbing and loading it himself and running the gun out between them with furious strain, his breath sobbing loud.  He shook off the hand of a sailor, gored through and all but dead already, but clutching at Archie’s feet with surprising strength.    
  
He staggered back when another sailor took his place and he charged along the gun line again.  Run out, fire, reload.  Again.  Again.    
  
He was shaking on his feet, hand held aloft to call for the next shot, and it wasn’t until a hand touched his shoulder to stop him—the carpenters mate, pointing up—that he heard the faint cheers and the echoing orders to stand down filling the ship, barely heard above the ringing in his ears.  
  
His gun crew was ragged but grinning and howling their delight, jeering out the ports at the French ship. Archie pulled himself upright, furious at their disorder.  
  
“Get this place to cleaned up,” he shouted, shoving one man near him toward a cannon.  “That’s bloody gunpowder you’re dancing around, you fools.  Put this to rights!”  
  
Chastened, the gun crew set back to the work of preparing the cannons for their next battle.  The gunner’s mate ran up to him and Archie accepted his report—three dead from his gun crew, and two more from Bracegirdle’s on the other side, but remarkably that was all on the upper gun deck.  He wondered if the lower had taken more of a beating, and how many bodies would litter the main deck when he emerged.  He glanced past the mate to the dead laying pushed aside in the heat of battle.  He sighed, feeling a creeping fatigue and a growing headache.  
  
“Take the wounded and dead to the surgeon.  See this lot finishes cleaning the guns out.”  He accepted the knuckled salute and the gunner’s mate scurried off.  
  
That done, he dragged himself up the gangway to make his report with the officers, and he saw the broken form of the _Bretagne_ , her foremast blown away and dragging alongside, her colours struck.  He grinned, feeling wild and a little numb as he fell into line to make his report to the quarterdeck.  
  
Pellew was barking orders, assembling the prize crew, and Archie shivered with delayed reaction, fear only now trickling over him like so much ice water, and his head throbbed. It seemed he only blinked and Lieutenant Eccles was in front of him, and the officers had been dismissed.  Had he given his report already?  
  
“Report to Mr. Low in the sickbay, Mr. Kennedy.”    
  
He opened his mouth to ask why, only remembering just in time that he was allowed one response to an order. 

“Yes, sir.

“Mr. Hornblower, please escort him.”  
  
Lieutenant Eccles beckoned, and Horatio took Archie by the upper arm and guided him below, solicitous and gentle with concern.  
  
“I’m fine,” he said, though his head still throbbed horribly.

“You will be.”  He invested it with such authority that it was practically an order, and Archie would do well not to disobey him.  
  
It wasn’t until one of the lob-lolly boys was cleaning the matted blood from his hair and the side of his face and neck that he was aware of the extent of the head wound, as cloth after cloth came away soaked in red.  It was only shallow, but long and bloody, an inch above his right ear, and his skull ached worse than any post-leave hangover he’d ever endured. He didn’t know if it had been a splinter or a blow, but it was quickly cleaned and bandaged.   They gave him an extra ration of water, a small dose of laudanum, and told him to lie down and rest until Mr. Low judged him fit and dismissed him.    
  
Horatio’s pale face hovered above him. 

“I have to return to duty, but I’ll come see you as soon as I can.”  
  
“I’m fine, Horatio.”  He was tired from the combination of laudanum, blood loss, and letdown after the battle, and he struggled to keep his eyes open.    
  
“Of course.”  Horatio glanced around, and then took Archie’s hand, squeezing it tight, and rested the other briefly on Archie’s chest over his heart.  “Rest.  I’ll see you soon.”  He flitted away with his usual speed, like a top set loose.    
  
Archie sighed and closed his eyes, touching his chest where Horatio had put his hand.  It was unlike him to be free with any physical affection; any moment of intimacy between them had been due to Archie’s forwardness, the pretence of brotherly care and friendly regard, finding excuses to touch Horatio.  He took jealous pride in the fact that he was the only one Horatio allowed to take such liberties, relaxing into an arm slung about him, or a leg set carelessly against him when they ate.  Or a mouth pressed against his icy fingers, blowing life back into them.    
  
Perhaps he should be ashamed of his falseness, but he wasn’t.  It was his own concession to a fruitless wish, a vice he would allow himself.  He rubbed at his breastbone.  He was too weary to think on it anymore.  There was no point, when his thoughts never went anywhere but back to where he already was.    
  
He fell into a uneasy doze, with cannon fire echoing in his ears and the hands of the dead clawing his ankles.

***

Mallory left on the _Bretagne_ , his chest puffed up with pride at his first command, even if it was only an easy sail back to England.  Horatio watched the ship hoist sail, her newly spliced mast ugly and lumpy like a broken limb, but functional.  In no time, she faded into the distance.    
  
The mood on the ship was changed after the brief skirmish, and tension rode high.  The infantrymen, having seen none of the action but only held their guns, waiting below, were the target of much mockery from the victorious sailors.  Four men had been flogged for scrapping with the redcoats, in a violent and bitter exchange that left one of the sailors unconscious.  The exchange between the military commander and Pellew had to have been a real donny, because Major Furlong, the company leader, had stalked the hold screaming at his men for a good fifteen minutes before releasing them to put their heads down and try to remain as unobtrusive as possible in a ship far too small for so many men.    
  
The crew lined the deck, called to attention in stiff rows before the quarterdeck to face their officers, who stood at perfect attention behind Captain Pellew.  He was a dark cloud of fury, scowling out over them, like God about to condemn them all to Hell and eternal suffering.  Aboard ship, he had the power to do it, too.  
  
“Whoever so much as touches one of our guests for the rest of this cruise will see his way clear to a dozen lashes at the gratings and confinement in the brig until we reach Gibraltar!”  His bark was deafening, and silence punctuated the end of his statement, only a faint uncomfortable shuffle marking the attending crew.  
  
“You do not have to like them, but you will respect them as fellow men in service of his Majesty the King, and you will damned well leave them alone!  Do I make myself clear!”  
  
A ragged chorus of ‘yes, sir,’ and then with disgust, Pellew turned his back on them, glaring at his first lieutenant. 

“Mr. Eccles, dismiss this rabble.  I’ve seen enough of them.”  
  
“Aye-aye, sir.”  Eccles stepped forward.  “Dismissed!”  
  
The men milled about and sorted themselves, the on-duty shift taking their stations and the rest finding a place to be out of sight.  No one wanted to attract Pellew’s attention, should he or one of his officers decide to turn their fury upon them for some small infraction or other.  With a speed that put their drill times to shame, the deck was clear and all were at their posts.  Horatio sighed and returned to his own watch, trying to avoid the captain’s notice as he paced, glowering at everything in sight.  
  
Horatio tried to keep his head on his duty, but he kept touching on the image of Archie emerging from below, eyes dull and half his head soaked in blood, not hearing or responding as Lieutenant Eccles called for his report.  A day later, he’d been released from the sick bay, and was ordered one more day of rest before he was back to his duties.  
  
Red coats began to fill the deck as the first platoon arrived for their half hour turn on deck, granted them twice a day in groups of twenty men.  They stretched and walked, keeping to themselves in small groups, chatting and relaxing in the fresh sea air.  Horatio watched the crew with a sharp eye, but even the surliest tars knew to hide their resentment against the perceived intruders on their ship and stay focused on their work.  Horatio scanned the blank horizon, rocked on his toes, and settled in for a long watch, running navigational calculations in his head on their current course, speculating on the length of their voyage accounting for weather or further combat delays.  
  
At each tolling bell the companies on the main deck changed, and at six bells Horatio caught sight of a familiar dark head among the redcoats.  John blinked in the light and looked around the deck, and caught sight of Horatio.  He nodded politely, and Horatio inclined his head in greeting, and John’s gaze slid past him without further marking their interaction.    
  
As it should be, he thought; they had experienced a moment of insanity only, and now it was past.  There was no more to it than that.  
  
Horatio had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself focused on his equations and holding himself at attention without fidgeting.  John moved about the deck, talking with another officer from his company, and he laughed and joked with a grace that Horatio longed for.  He had the same easy charm as Archie.  Horatio himself had no talent for people—he was much better off sticking to his sums and navigation problems.    
  
Soon John was gone below with his company again, and he relaxed back into the mindless humdrum of standing watch, until eight bells released him.  He made his way directly to the midshipmen’s cabin to check on Archie.    
  
Archie was sitting on the deck and leaning against the bulkhead, reading his worn Shakespeare text yet again.  Horatio wondered how he could thumb the pages so often and still find pleasure in them.  Horatio had read it, of course, as he had every single book he could beg and borrow from the officers aboard, and found the verse far too flowery for his tastes.  But Archie took comfort in it, and that alone endeared it to him.  Archie looked up when he entered the room.  
  
“How are you?”  Horatio asked, and sat next to Archie.  
  
“Bloody sore,” Archie groused.  He dropped his book aside.  “And tired of being stuck in here.  But I’ve been ordered to rest, so here I am.  Too many lobsters everywhere else.  I never thought I’d say it, but I miss the wardroom.”      
  
Archie was a good officer, but never bore minor hardship with particular grace.  It was only when he stopped complaining that Horatio worried.  
  
“Back to your charming self, I see.”  
  
“Mostly.  Mr. Low said I’ll likely heal fine.”  Archie touched the bandage on his head.  
  
“And an impressive scar to show off to the girls,” Horatio teased, shoving him, and Archie snorted.

“It’ll be hidden by my hair, he said.”  He let his head tip to the side and rest on Horatio’s shoulder.  “Still bloody hurts,” he grumbled.  
  
Horatio laughed and his relief and affection welled up so fierce and warm that he wrapped an arm around Archie’s shoulders and pressed his face into the soft, unruly blond hair that tangled above the bandage wrapped around his head to hold the gauze in place.  
  
“I’m glad you’re alright.”  
  
Archie hummed a gentle acknowledgement, and Horatio sighed into his hair.  It was peaceful, holding Archie like this.  The familiar comforting smells of sweat and lingering gunpowder, the warmth of him, and soft hair against his face.  Archie shifted to find a comfortable position with a soft noise, and his breath warmed Horatio’s neck.  
  
Horatio flushed as the feel of it brought on a vivid sense memory of a mouth hot and licking on Horatio’s neck, a body pressed against him in the gloom with hard and frantic need.  Horatio squeezed his eyes shut and tried to forget.  This was not like that.    
  
His breath ruffled Archie’s blond hair.  
  
_Let me, please let me_ —  The words echoed back to him.  The desperation in them—he understood it now.  The urge that overwhelmed good sense and drove a man to take the risk; it was like a demon running loose in his chest.  Something had changed inside him.  
  
Archie was pliant against him, breath warm.    
  
He hadn’t let Archie go yet, and with an abrupt need to put space between them, Horatio pulled back and rolled to stand.  He faced away from Archie and tried to collect himself, horrified to realize he was aroused by such a simple thing.    
  
When he turned back, Archie had stood and was looking at him with bright eyes.  
  
“Horatio?”  
  
Archie took a step toward him as Horatio took a step back, synchronized like dancers.  
  
“I hope that your head does not pain you further.”  Horatio said with tight dignity.  Without giving Archie a chance to respond, he made a hasty exit from the cabin, fleeing as quickly as he could without breaking into a full run.    
  
  
***  
  
Archie considered pursuing him, but knew they couldn’t say anything outside the dubious privacy they had in the midshipmen’s cabin while Bracegirdle was on watch.  He was foggy from the headache and the low-level blur of laudanum, but he knew he was taking liberties in seeking such blatant comfort. It had probably been foolish to push it further when Horatio put up no defences, but the affection had been so obvious and welcoming, it seemed a small risk.    
  
Much as he dearly loved Horatio, sometimes he wished they’d never met.  Archie had always been free with his love—quick to lose his heart to a pretty face, but equally quick to move on.  The girls and boys he’d met in his London life before the Navy had accepted his puppyish pursuits with gentle grace and amusement, and it had never been difficult.  Even the few negotiations and encounters with naval officers, though hasty by necessity and long periods of celibacy, had been relatively straightforward.    
  
But no one had ever made his heart ache the way Horatio did.  They were close, dear friends, but Archie had accepted some time ago that Horatio was blind to the particular bent in his devotion.  Perhaps it was Horatio’s sheltered life, or that blasted sense of honour, but the man held himself away from everyone around him.    
  
He had Horatio’s trust and was considered a friend.  He should call himself most fortunate and be grateful, and leave it at that.  It didn’t stop him from wishing, though.  
  
Familiar words came to mind, ones he’d repeated silently to himself in fanciful, overwrought moments, pining fruitlessly with exaggerated romance before he’d managed to find a balance with his desires and reality.  
  
_Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks_  
_Within his bending sickle’s compass come:_  
_Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,_  
_But bears it out even to the edge of doom._  
  
He’d recited the sonnet with such passion to the first girl he’d been with, a lovely stage beauty many years his senior.  He’d blustered his way through, claiming age and experience, but in retrospect he was sure she’d accepted him mostly out of charity.  He’d been so sincere, and she had laughed with delight at his sweetness.  In the end she had been a passing fancy, but she had been a gentle teacher.  The idea of devotion that strong stuck with him thought, and he welcomed it with open arms.  
  
He closed his eyes, exhausted, his head aching.  He hadn’t considered that love could be a burden as well as a boon, and that he should ever wish it would just _go away_.  
  
The lingering sense of unfinished business between them nagged at him.  Maybe it was wishful thinking, or maybe it was the cloudy head, but Horatio’s recent flip-flopping between cold distance and warm tenderness was making him wonder at the nature of Horatio’s affection.  
  
 Archie needed to find the balance between them again, because he didn’t think his heart could take this wavering any longer.  
  
Archie knew a few of Horatio’s favourite hiding spots.  He would look for him there.  
  
  
***  
  
  
_This never happened before, would never have happened, before—before—_  
  
Horatio walked, hands clasped behind his back, channeling his agitation into movement.  He started at the main deck and walked in a deliberate pattern, traversing each inch with steady footfalls.  He thoughtlessly accepted the odd salute given him as he passed working crewmen, and dodged clustered groups of redcoats talking amongst themselves.  
  
The main deck grew too small, so he made his way below, prowling the gun decks, passing by the crew berths, traversing the walkway that passed the hold serving as the redcoats berth.  He scanned as he walked, and there—John.  As though feeling Horatio’s gaze, John glanced up from where he sat working a rag against his bayonet, polishing the metal.  His action stayed a moment, as he followed Horatio’s movement, and then his attention dropped back to his task as Horatio walked on without pause.  
  
The casual gaze made Horatio boil with anger.  He resented the man. His continued presence was an uncomfortable reminder of Horatio’s mistakes and weakness.  He resented the sudden change in his body, an abrupt craving for an intimacy he had long decided he was comfortable without, how it coloured his thoughts, creeping in to sully his friendships, his duty, his life aboard ship.  He made his way to the orlop deck, his fury trailing behind him like a cloud of bitter gun smoke.  He would pace, he would hide in the gloom, and damn the world anyway.  
  
Horatio travelled the narrow corridor past coils of cable high as his shoulder.  His footsteps were muffled and dead in the dark and narrow space, and at each end of the ship he swivelled and prowled back, but there was no way to flee the thoughts that dogged him.    
  
He stopped some minutes later when he heard a faint scuffling sound amidships, and he braced himself to face a crew party sent below for some task or other, invading the brief respite he’d found.  
  
Instead, a flash of red.  John turned and spotted him, one foot still on the gangway step.

His temper boiled. 

“What are you doing here?"

“I thought—I thought you…”  John’s face fell.  
  
He thought it had been an invitation.  Horatio burned with embarrassment, and he strode to meet John.  Without forethought, when John stepped to meet him he leapt forward and grabbed him by the front of his collar and manhandled him back, slamming him into the solid timber supporting the gangway.    
  
John was taken by surprise, but it was only a second before he was grabbing at Horatio’s arm and twisting, trying to free himself.  They grappled, stumbling and then falling against the solid bulk of cable, and tumbled to the deck.  Horatio bucked and struggled, catching John in the face with a flailing limb, and he grunted in pain.  
  
They rolled again, and John gained the upper hand and trapped him, an arm wrapped around his neck and legs holding him in a wrestler’s grip from behind, effectively immobilizing him.    
  
“Horatio!” John grunted as Horatio struggled again.  “Enough!”  
  
Horatio swore at him, trying to drive an elbow back and into John’s gut, but John tightened his hold and the world greyed out.    
  
“Get off him!”  
  
John’s grip eased and disappeared, and Horatio coughed, and heard the smack of fist on flesh.  He righted himself, and saw Archie struggling with John now, trying to haul him off.  
  
“Archie!”  Horatio staggered to his feet.  “Archie, stop!”  
  
The two struggled, Archie managing to get a grip about John’s midsection and charge him back into a giant coil of anchor cable, knocking the wind from him.  John thumped on his back with joined fists and drove him off, but Archie came at him again.  
  
Horatio thrust himself between them, and took a misdirected jab with a smarting blow to his jaw, and with a final irritated roar he managed to get between and part them. Archie stumbled back while John cursed loudly, cupping his eye.  Archie rallied and tried to come at him again, but Horatio got hold of him.    
  
“Stop it!”  
  
“You’re going to defend that bastard?  He was throttling you!”  He weaved a bit in Horatio’s grip before blinking his eyes clear; he was dizzy from his aggravated head injury, but his fury kept him upright.  
  
John was glaring at him murderously. 

“I wouldn’t have if he weren’t behaving like a mad dog,” he spat.  “What is wrong with you, Horatio?”  
  
Horatio had no answer, and he could see another question formulating in Archie’s mind as John called him by his given name with such familiarity.  Before he could respond, the thundering of boots on the deck above startled them all, and they broke apart as feet appeared on the gangway.  
  
Dixon, commander of the shipboard Royal Marines, was standing with another marine and Burnell, the Master-at-Arms, at his back.  He slowed to a stop when he saw the three men pulled to attention below on the walkway.  
  
“Gentlemen,” he said with a nod, looking between them.  “I had a report of some trouble.”  
  
None of them answered.  
  
Dixon came down and looked at each closely.  It was obvious they’d been brawling; John’s eye had already grown puffy, Archie was rumpled and flushed with anger he’d still not yet mastered, and Horatio was certain his bottom lip was split.  He pressed his hands to his sides, staring forward without comment, while John and Archie did the same to either side of him.    
  
Dixon knew Archie and Horatio, but stopped in front of John. 

“Name.”  
  
“Second Lieutenant John Kelly, sir.” 

“An officer, scrapping like a common tar.”  He shook his head, directing a look at Archie and Horatio.  “And you two should know better.”  He shoved at each of them in turn, directing them to the gangway. "Well, you made enough noise to draw attention, so we’ll give you all the attention you need.  Let’s go.”  
  
Horatio paled, only now remembering the shipboard edict about fighting among the crew.  They didn’t flog midshipmen, or officers.  He swallowed.  Though perhaps they would make an exception this time.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Horatio won't give Archie a straight answer, but Archie isn't giving up.

Lieutenant Eccles, as it turned out, was conferring with Captain Pellew and Major Furlong in the great cabin.  When the word was passed for him, all three were alerted to the incident, and the three young men were hauled before the intimidating council of high ranking officers.  
  
Had it been just Eccles, they might have been granted some mercy and a blind eye, but now the matter was before Pellew, and by the dark look on his face as he paced the cabin glaring at them, it wasn’t mercy they’d be receiving.  
  
Eccles and Furlong sat to either side of the captain’s great oak desk.  Furlong’s face was a stunning purple with suppressed rage, while Eccles had his arms crossed and watched the captain’s pacing with unease.  It was his duty to keep the midshipmen in line, after all, so their behaviour made the situation bad for him as well.    
  
“What is the meaning of this?” Pellew finally roared.    
  
Horatio had not expected his naval career to end like this.  He considered his options; he could not admit the whole story, as he would bring shame to his ship, as well as sentence John to death at his side.  And, most likely by extension, ruin Archie by his mere friendly association.  The logical choice was to confess to the lesser crime of of brawling with a redcoat, though he would have to concoct a reason for the disagreement.  He mentally flipped through an index of possibilities.  
  
Before he could speak, Archie stepped forward, stiff at attention. 

“The fault is mine, Captain.”  
  
Pellew narrowed his eyes, scanning the three, and then setting on Archie. 

“Indeed, Mr. Kennedy.  Please elaborate.”  
  
Archie blinked rapidly.  “Sir, yes, sir.  The fight was between me and Mr. Kelly.  Horatio—Mr. Hornblower—intervened.  He was attempting to stop our quarrel.”  
  
“Is that so.”  Pellew stood nose to nose with Archie, and it was only in contrast to his steady bulk that Horatio saw Archie was swaying on his feet, not quite handling the gently rolling deck.    “And pray tell, Mr. Kennedy, what was this _quarrel_ over?”  
  
Archie’s eyes flickered briefly to the side toward John, and then back to stare straight ahead over Pellew’s shoulder to the great windows and the sea beyond the stern. 

“Professional differences, sir.”  
  
Horatio clenched his teeth tightly together to keep his mouth shut against his objections, though he certainly had nothing that he could add other than a denial of Archie’s part in this.  The injustice Archie was doing himself rankled, but Archie had spun his story quicker than Horatio, and to speak now would only bring upon them the sin of lying to the captain as well as the trouble they were already in.  Behind Pellew, Eccles looked apoplectic, but Major Furlong was starting to look hopeful that his man could be painted an innocent victim in all this. Pellew was impossible to read at all, stone-faced and examining Archie so closely it was as though he were leafing through the thoughts behind Archie’s eyes.    
  
“Major, may I?”  Pellew addressed the question to Furlong.  
  
Furlong nodded his permission, and Pellew moved to address John. 

“Well?”  
  
John licked his lips, eyes darting, looking trapped.    Archie gave him a brief glance full of poison, and John nodded. 

“Professional differences, sir.”  
  
“I see.  And you, Mr. Hornblower?”  
  
And there it was, the final question.  He couldn’t lie, but he also couldn’t disagree with them and destroy the honour of the other two. 

“When Misters Dixon and Burnell encountered us, I was trying to part Mr. Kelly and Mr. Kennedy.”  His face burned hot.    
  
Pellew was no fool; he likely heard the falsehood in the careful wording, but Horatio was slowly learning that captains and lieutenants weren’t as interested in the perfect truth as they were the definitive resolution and swift punishment of all wrongs.  Even so, the dishonesty gnawed at him.  
  
There was a brief conference between Pellew and Major Furlong, and then Pellew sat himself at his desk and addressed the three standing at attention.    
  
“As you well know, I spoke on the consequences of further fights among the crew.  I had expected that as officers and gentlemen, you would set a better example and we would not be in this predicament.”  He settled in his chair and steepled his hands.  “In the matter of punishment, we shall act each according to our service.”    
  
He nodded to Furlong, who stood to face John.  John, if possible, became even more taught and straight, performing a perfect parade-ground turn and marching to the door when directed.  When they were gone and the door had closed, Pellew leapt from his chair and circled the desk.  
  
“How dare—how _dare_ —the two of you embarrass me, and this ship, with such foolishness.  You will remember that your actions reflect upon your crew and your service!  You will not so much as look at another redcoat on this ship from now until Gibraltar.  Is that understood!”  
  
Both Archie and Horatio gave a subdued “yes, sir,” and Horatio could not help dropping his chin to his chest to gaze at his shoes.    
  
“When not on duty or at your studies with Mr. Eccles, you are confined to quarters until further notice.”  
  
They gave another faint, ragged acknowledgement.  
  
“And you will both be caned.  I can’t have my midshipmen strung up at the grates, but you’re damned well going to learn to better control yourselves.”  
  
Archie started, “But sir, I was—“  
  
“Mr. Kennedy,” Pellew interrupted loudly.  “I will remind you that _I_ am the captain of this vessel.  I will assume your poor judgement at this time is due to your injury, and be thankful I am.”  He waited for Archie to properly settle into deferential silence, and then continued.  “You will be caned forthwith.  Mr. Eccles, you will see to the details.”  
  
“Aye, sir,” Eccles said.  
  
Pellew ran his eyes up and down Archie. 

“First, Mr. Kennedy, get yourself to Mr. Low, and see to those stitches.”  
  
“Aye, sir,”  Archie said.    
  
“You are dismissed.  Mr. Eccles, please see him out.”  
  
Archie and Horatio saluted, and Eccles rose to accompany them to the door, but Pellew raised his voice once more.  
  
“Not you, Mr. Hornblower.”  
  
Archie paused, reluctant to leave Horatio in the lion’s den, but Eccles gently pushed him along.  As Archie turned, Horatio finally saw the red stain that soaked the length of the bandage around his head.  The door clicked behind them, and Horatio waited for the worst of it to come, dragging himself back to attention and fixing his gaze on the great room windows.  
  
He took a deep breath, searching for courage. 

“Please sir, my deepest apologies—“  
  
Pellew held up a hand, and he stuttered to a halt. 

“Mr. Hornblower, this is not the first time young men have come to blows on my ship, nor is it likely to be the last.  However, I did expect better of you.”  
  
Horatio closed his eyes.  He could bear the anger, but the thick disappointment struck much deeper.  He waited for the sting to pass, and opened them again.  Pellew was perched on the edge of his desk, arms crossed.  
  
“You have promise, and a commission in your future, if you continue to work hard.  Do not let petty matters distract you from this.  Focus on your duty.”  
  
The unexpected grain of praise caught him by surprise.  Pellew was stern, but no longer furious.  Horatio worried at the split in his lip, trying to moderate the hopeful pride that bloomed in his chest against the backdrop of his misery.  
  
“I trust this won’t happen again.”  
  
“No, sir.”  
  
Pellew looked him up and down, and then nodded.    
  
“Very good.”  He moved back behind his desk and busied himself with the papers there.  “That is all.  Dismissed.”  He did not look up.  
  
Horatio exited the cabin, and heard the bell toll seven.  He was next on the watch roster, he realized with relief.  After the unpleasant punishment was through, he would not have to linger with his thoughts as well as his pain.  
  
A second chance.  He could bury himself in his present duty, and forget what the past and the future held.  
  
  
***  
  
  
Gossip spread throughout the ship at its usual speed, and silence followed Horatio and Archie as they went to accept their punishment.  
  
They bore it as best they could, Horatio pressing his face to the hard cannon barrel to keep quiet and still under the pain and humiliation.  After, he stood aside, legs trembling, and Archie draped himself over the barrel and prepared himself for the same, already shaking with fearful anticipation.  
  
The rattan whipped through the air with each stroke, inevitable and brutal, and at the eighth blow he could not restrain a quiet, high yelp.  
  
“Steady on, lad,” whispered the black-toothed seaman who held Archie’s wrists down.  “Two more.”  
  
He clenched his jaw shut as tight as he could, struggling through the final blows, cheek to cold steel, and then standing to attention with difficulty.  
  
Eccles dismissed the others involved and faced the two of them, ignoring their damp cheeks and granting them as much dignity as he could under the circumstances.  
  
“The matter is closed, gentlemen.  Dismissed.”  
  
It was Horatio’s poor luck to be on watch directly after, while Archie returned to quarters.  His head and the welts crossing his rear throbbed with each step, but he ignored the curious gazes that followed him and didn’t allow himself self-pity and tears until he was safely shut away behind the cabin door.  
  
He sniffed and scrubbed his face with the cuff of his uniform as the door opened and Bracegirdle came in a minute later.  
  
Bracegirdle nodded, pulling at his stock, eyeing Archie. 

“Alright, then?”    
  
“Never better.”  
  
Bracegirdle snorted and patted him on the shoulder.  The motion made him ache, but he appreciated the gesture.    
  
“Good man,” Bracegirdle grunted.  He lingered, and eventually his curiosity got the better of him, for Anthony Bracegirdle was a merciless gossip at heart.  “It’s not like you or Horatio to be fighting. What happened?”  
  
“Not much to tell.  Hot words, I lost my temper.  Horatio leapt in to dissuade us.  Honourable, as always.”  
  
Bracegirdle looked dubious, but wisely let it lie. 

“Can I get you anything?  I can fetch a salve from Mr. Low.”  
  
Archie nodded, having forgotten to think on it earlier while silently sitting through the stitches being redone on his head wound, busy dreading the caning rather than thinking if its repercussions.    
  
“Thank you.  That is kind of you.”  
  
Bracegirdle squeezed Archie on the shoulder once more, his round face softened by a concerned smile, and left again.  With some difficulty Archie managed to get into his hammock.  
  
Inevitably, his thoughts drifted to the incident which had led him here.  Horatio, kicking and furious in the soldier's grip, a crimson-clad arm tight below his chin.  He mulled it over and over, and it pained him as much as his body.  
  
The second lieutenant had spoken to Horatio with such a familiar tone, angry and accusing.  The two knew each other, obviously.   Something important had transpired without Horatio confiding in him, and he felt a sting of jealousy over the fact.  Horatio making a friend was rare enough, let alone a friendship which soured so quickly.     
  
He hadn’t been able to spare Horatio a caning as he’d hoped, but the idiot owed him anyway for deflecting the blame.  The lobster could go hang as far as he cared, but he’d have the truth out of Horatio, if only as compensation for the furious pain in his backside.  They’d have time, as they were both confined to quarters until Pellew’s anger faded, or they reached the end of their current commission, whichever came first.  
  
He wrapped his arms around himself and tried reciting verse in his head to distract from the pain.    
  
***  
  
Horatio endured his own hell on deck, trying to focus on the navigation task before him.  At length he presented his results to Soames, who nodded and agreed with him.  Distracted or not, the task was simple and familiar.  The uncomplicated act of calculation brought him calm and peace, and he wished everything could be as simple as sailing.  
  
As per their calculations, the order was given to bring the _Indefatigable_ to a south south-easterly course, cutting across the large swells of open water in favour of avoiding the Bay of Biscay and her various French strongholds.  Their orders had been to make haste to Gibraltar and avoid detection when possible.  With all indications pointing to fair weather, they did not need to seek sheltered waters, and the Atlantic winds carried them with extreme speed to their final destination.    
  
Despite the searing agony of standing, he fantasized of begging Mr. Bolton to let him serve a second watch.  Anything to avoid being trapped below.  He lingered after he was formally relieved, and Bolton frowned at him.  
  
“I shouldn’t have to remind you that you are confined to quarters when not on duty.  Get below, Mr. Hornblower.”  
  
He nodded, miserable. 

“Aye aye, sir.”    
  
Surely walking to the hangman’s noose was an easier task than the ensuing march below, where Archie no doubt waited for the answers he was due.  His guilt was excruciating.    
  
He passed Bracegirdle on the gangway as he hastened to his own watch, running late and tugging his uniform into order as he hurried.  He slowed as he passed Horatio, giving him a sympathetic look, before hustling up to deck.  
  
Archie was obscured in his hammock when he entered, and he had a brief hope that he was asleep.  
  
“About time.”  Archie’s voice came from within the sailcloth.  
  
No such luck, then.  Carefully as he could manage, he slid out of his jacket and boots, wishing there was a way to sit without pain.  He flinched as a small vial hit him in the chest and bounced off.  
  
“Salve.”  Archie withdrew his arm back into his hammock.  
  
Horatio picked it up, rolling the little pot in his hands. 

“Thank you.”  
  
The silence held for nearly a minute before Archie huffed with impatience and hauled himself up far enough to see Horatio over the edge of the canvas. 

“Well?”  
  
Horatio studied the vial, rolling it around and around. 

“You shouldn’t have accepted the blame.”  
  
“I am starting to question my wisdom in that as well,” Archie said, wincing as he shifted.  “It would be a pleasure to know what exactly it was that I accepted fault for.”    
  
The walls of the cabin were a prison, this confinement as good as a life sentence, and Archie his penance. 

“It was a simple disagreement, nothing more.  I apologize for the trouble it has caused you.”  
  
“Really.  And what was the nature of your disagreement?”  
  
“It was a private matter.”  
  
“Private.”  The word was brittle and dry as bone.  “I could hear you brawling from the deck above.  Not a very private solution to a private matter.”  
  
Horatio squeezed the vial hard, scrambling for a swift and final resolution to the conversation. 

“It was nothing.”  
  
“It was not nothing!”  He levered himself up and out of the hammock, a sheen of sweat on his cheeks at the effort.  “You will not tell me I was beaten for nothing.  This is ridiculous!”  
  
“Archie, please—“  
  
“What happened?”  
  
“Nothing!”    
  
Horatio was losing both his patience and his composure as Archie persisted.  He was too sore and emotionally drained to withstand Archie’s bludgeoning questions.  But Archie only narrowed his eyes and pressed on.  
   
“What did Kelly say?  What did he do?”  
  
“Please!”  Horatio cried.  “Archie, I beg of you, leave it be.  I know I have imposed on you, that it is inexcusable to ask, but upon our friendship I beg you to not ask me again, for there is nothing I can say!”  
  
Horatio was not given to long speeches of any kind, and his most impassioned words were usually saved for the keen interest he held in problems, challenges, and strategy.  The plea hung between them, and Horatio wished he could take it back, seal the cracks in his dignity and set himself right and proper.  He’d said too much already, but Archie’s demands were just—Horatio had too much respect for him to easily turn aside his valid questions, so all he could ask is that Archie stop asking.  
  
Archie seemed taken aback by his desperation, and his tone gentled and contained a hint of genuine concern.

“You have my confidence, you know that.”  
  
Horatio nodded, wishing he had said nothing at all. 

“I have never doubted it.  But I cannot burden you with this.”  
  
“I would bear it willingly.”  He shuffled closer with awkward pained steps, and took Horatio’s hand in a solid grip.  “I am your friend.  I would take it on, as you have done for me in the past.”    
  
But Horatio shook his head a final time.  He would not speak any further.  
  
Archie’s shoulders slumped.  For the second time today, Horatio had to bear the disappointment of someone he respected, and it stung.  He had failed at both duty and friendship.    
  
Eventually Archie released Horatio’s hand and retreated to his hammock, turning his back and making it clear that the conversation was now closed, just as he wanted.  
  
It lacked any sense of victory, but at least it was done.  Horatio opened the vial and set about the matter of tending to his injuries and counting the minutes until his next watch.  
  
  
***  
  
  
The midshipmen’s cabin became a tense place in the following days.  Bracegirdle tried to jolly each of them out of their self-indulgent silence whenever he was present, but gave up after a while and ignored them.  Every shift became a blessed escape, no matter the weather or the conditions or the capricious moods of her senior officers.  Whether by chance or by design, their watch and lessons schedule left them with little time alone together, but what little there was became excruciating.  
  
Archie’s head wound healed well, and soon he was free of the itching bandages, though he still walked and sat with careful attention.  Horatio, for his part, held himself aloof and tried to hide his grim and unhappy mood, working to accept the new balance, however unpleasant it was.  Archie was justified in holding a grudge against him for his inexcusable usage.  He hoped for his forgiveness, but wouldn’t beg for something he didn’t deserve.  
  
When they were forced into each others’ company, they read silently, or scratched out letters, heads down and isolated in their own worlds.  Archie, a social creature by nature, quickly unbent enough to play at cards and chatter on with Bracegirdle, far too lonely to restrain himself.  He even tried light conversation with Horatio, seldom more than a few pleasantries.  Horatio kept himself to polite nods and short responses, and neither of the other two other midshipmen pressed him further.    
  
The hardest part of the confinement was Horatio's dreams.  They were never clear, but he woke into an agonized state of arousal every time.  The tight confines of shipboard living meant that everyone turned a blind eye to any nighttime activities, but with his natural reserve and the constant presence of others, he rarely took himself in hand.  Now, however, his body seemed intent on torturing him nightly.  With steady, furtive strokes and careful silence he brought himself off, a mishmash of wishful imaginings and sensory memories occupying his thoughts.  The humiliation at the uncontrollable carnality was difficult to bear, but at least it brought him some drowsy peace, and he could manage to sleep again.    
  
After seven days, Lieutenant Eccles passed the word for them, and they were granted a reprieve from confinement.  They forgot themselves and grinned widely at each other, delighted to have their freedom again, and it wasn’t until Horatio coughed and ducked his head in embarrassment that Archie appeared to remember there’d been a quarrel between them at all.    
  
Archie took a deep breath of the fresh sea air and looked around.  “I don’t know about you, but I am going as far from that cabin as I can.”  He looked up, and pointed to the crow’s nest.  “There should do.”  
  
Horatio smiled and nodded.  Although he was able to climb the rigging when necessary, he never took any voluntary trips aloft.  Archie often went to spend time with the lookout, swaying high above the deck like he was born to fly, rather than sail.  Horatio watched him clamber up with easy skill, wishing he had his own place to hide.  He would not return to the orlop deck again unless duty took him there.    
  
  
***  
  
  
The _Indefatigable_ , making her steady way southwest, finally passed far offshore of Cadiz.  Under the captain’s watchful eye she came round on a westerly course for her run at Gibraltar.  From now on they were in heavily contested waters, and it would be a matter of chance whether they should encounter the French, Spanish, or another British ship first.    
  
The hum of excitement grew as the troops realized they were only a few days from their new post, and they’d have freedom from the claustrophobic shipboard life.  The possibility of parting company made both groups of sailors and soldiers more willing to be civil with each other, and lively games and merriment sprung up all over the ship.  A pair of ratings brought out their fiddles and sawed away, much to the delight of many, and the mess became an impromptu music hall.  Others took their turns singing bawdy songs, and secret stores of drink and food came out of their hiding places.    
  
The crowd was packed tight, and Archie and Horatio had to squeeze around the edge to get down the gangway from the the upper deck. The men cheered on a young soldier who’d climbed aboard a table and was delivering a song of a girl left on the dock, with hair dark as the soil of Ireland, and eyes as blue as its skies.  Archie grinned, delighted by the entertainment.  Beside him, Horatio grimaced, as though pained by the sound.  
  
He jerked his head. 

“I’m going back to quarters.”  
  
“I think I’ll stay a while,”  Archie said, and Horatio nodded and headed for’ard, ducking and weaving to make his way through the men in search of their relatively quiet quarters.  
  
They’d found peace between them, of a sort.  Archie was putting his resentment behind him—a much easier task now that his backside had stopped hurting.  Horatio had put up a blockade between them, and their friendship was cooler and more distant than it had ever been.  Horatio’s stonewalling both hurt and irritated him, and unanswered questions plagued him, but it was better than the complete silence they’d maintained for that long and awful week.    
  
Archie turned back to the singer, who was lapsing into another verse, hand on his heart as he sung with mocking sincerity, and the men hooted and whooped at the lewd double entendres about his girl’s many virtues.  He laughed along, pleased to see the sport and to be part of the joy.  There had been too little of it lately, and it buoyed his spirits.  He scanned the happy faces nearby, and was caught short at a familiar one.  
  
John Kelly, the infantry second lieutenant.  He was a few paces away, leaning back against a timber and watching the performance.  He seemed subdued and removed from the crush around him.  He still sported a fading black eye from Archie’s punch, which had connected solid and true.  Whatever punishment he’d undergone for their fight, it had kept him from sight aboard ship, even though Archie had been watching.  Horatio had closed the matter so tightly Archie had not had another opportunity to try and dig for information, and his curiosity was beyond bearing.    
  
Though he’d been forbidden from any interaction with the redcoats, Archie decided to take his chances in favour of putting his speculation to rest, and sidled through the crowd to come behind the timber and lean against it casually, as though only coincidence brought them into proximity.  No one paid him any mind nearby, all focused on the raucous show.  
  
John glanced to his side at the movement near him, and then gave a double-take as he saw Archie at his shoulder.    
  
“What do you want?” he asked, pitching his voice low and quiet.  
  
“To speak with you.”  Archie kept his eyes on the performance and a false smile on his lips as he spoke.    
  
“I cannot.  My orders forbid me any further contact with the ship’s officers outside my duties.”  
  
“Just as well, your modes of contact leave much to be desired,” Archie muttered.  He’d had Horatio near the point of unconsciousness when Archie had dragged him off.  
  
John put a hand over his mouth as though covering a yawn, masking his words to keep them from anyone but Archie. 

“Leave me alone.  I believe we’ve resolved our ‘professional differences’ already.”    
  
Archie could barely restrain himself, and curled up his hands into tight fists to keep himself from throttling the man where he stood. 

“I am not jesting.”  
  
“Neither am I!”  John hissed.   The men around them rose up in applause as the performer finished his song with a prolonged note, coming to a close with a flourish and bow, and John leaned close and dropped into a harsh whisper beneath the din.  “Unless you have a wish to see all three of us hanged, stop behaving like a damned jealous fishwife!”  
  
“Hanged?”  Archie frowned at him, thrown.  “What? What have you—“    
     
His mind caught up with his mouth. He gaped at John, pulling back from their conference.  Surely he didn’t mean _that_.  There were only so many things that set a man swinging, and he did not think John meant they were plotting mutiny belowdecks.  
  
John paled, and forgetting himself, turned to face Archie. 

“No, I didn’t mean—” John stuttered.  “I didn’t—he said you and he were—I thought—“  he closed his mouth and turned away again. He blinked rapidly with poorly managed panic, struggling to maintain a calm outward appearance.  
  
Archie leaned heavily against the timber.  Horatio and—  
  
His mind balked at the idea.    
  
Horatio.  _Horatio_.  
  
He wanted to accuse the man of lying, but even he could see the idiocy in that.  Rumours could destroy a man as easy as the truth, and no one would willingly infer such a thing, even as a joke.  
  
John licked his lips and ducked his head close to Archie again. 

“Please don’t—“  
  
“Shut up.”  Archie hissed.  “Don’t say another word.”  
  
John nodded, and stared forward without further comment, mouth pressed closed in a tight line.    
  
Archie chose the moment to get away, and wove through the press of bodies, leaving Kelly to his fright.  
  
_Horatio_.    
  
Horatio, all thin arms and legs, tall and gawky; his anxious squint and over-eager stance, his forever-twitching fingers and the narrow shoulders that hiked up to his ears in cold weather and when he was embarrassed.  Horatio, with a voice that still cracked when he shouted orders, a rich laugh he rarely let loose, and a ridiculous nervous cough he uttered when he did not know what else to say.  Trousers too short, elbows worn, curls hanging in his eyes, Horatio.  
  
Taken by pieces, Horatio was just a young man like any other, but Archie had loved him for so long that he had built him up in his own mind as more than that—brilliant, skillful, beyond the mortal yearning that Archie felt.    
  
Foolish courtly love, to put a name to it.  
  
It was a curious feeling, Archie thought, to find that the perfect, untouchable object of one’s affection was sneaking below decks to bugger random men in secret, all while Archie pined and contented himself with scraps of stolen affection.  He felt like a grand fool.  
  
A distant, sensible part of him recognized that the direct course he’d set for their quarters was a poor choice, and that he should take a walk, or find a game of chance or sport among the men to join in until the storm in his head calmed.    
  
Unfortunately, that scrap of logic was lost in the sea of red that carried him onward.  


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arguments, emotional growth, and kissing, sprinkled with cannon fire.

Archie slammed through the door and shut it, then took hold of the side of his sea chest and heaved on it until it was across the cabin door, dragging the wood and brass monster that had taken two men to manhandle down here.  He would not be interrupted, and damn the consequences if Bracegirdle ended up pounding on the door.    
  
Horatio spun in his chair, startled by the unexpected entry and flurry of activity.  Horatio shut the seamanship text on the little table and stood.     
  
“What are you doing?”    
  
Horatio’s mouth quirked up on one side, as though he wasn’t sure if he should laugh or be concerned at Archie’s behaviour, and his expression hovered in the middle ground between the two.  He looked so sincere, forehead creased with deep wrinkles between his brows, so expressive, so blasted innocent.    
  
Archie spluttered for a moment, grasping for anywhere to start.  To think, he had stepped in for him with noble purpose, enduring a caning for Horatio’s selfish pursuits.  Damn the man!    
  
“You will not,” he said, stabbing out an accusing finger, “have me dragged before the Captain for your—your _dalliances_ ever again.” He was shaking with fury.  “Ever.  Are we clear?”  
  
Nothing could prepare him for depth and breadth of the stillness that followed his brutal words.  He waited for Horatio’s counter-attack, but nothing came.  Horatio stood there with his jaw unhinged, a pen drooping loose between the fingers of one hand, shocked into silence.  Archie’s anger turned hollow and sour as Horatio went lifeless before him and dropped his gaze to the deck.    
  
Archie sat heavily on the sea chest barring the door, driving his head back against the thick wood with a loud thump.  It pained his healing wound and he winced.    
  
“God damn you, Horatio,” he rasped.    
  
Horatio stood where Archie’s words had stopped him, standing to the same stiff attention he’d held during their tongue-lashing in the captain’s great room.  There was no satisfaction in this confrontation.  
  
“God damn you,” he said again, deflated.    
  
Horatio put the pen in his hand down on the table behind him, carefully lining it up next to the spine of his book. 

“How did you know?”  
  
“I spoke with Kelly.”  
  
Horatio absorbed his words, brow creased. 

“What did he say?”  His voice shook lightly.  
  
Archie huffed impatiently, lowering his voice enough that it would not be overheard through the cabin door. 

“Well he didn’t come right out and say, ‘oh, I’ve been sodomizing your friend in the cable tier, fine day for it,’ but his meaning was clear enough.”  
  
He’d seldom seen a man pale so quickly as Horatio did, and he regretted the cruelty of his words for a moment before he clung again to the safety of his bitter anger.  Horatio sank into his chair.    
  
“I—“  Thick emotion caught and mangled Horatio’s intended words, and he paused to collect himself before trying again.  “I did not intend it.  I am sorry.”  
  
Archie had too many questions and accusations, but it all boiled down to one in the end.    
  
“Why?”  
  
Horatio looked pained, the dark skin under his eyes much more pronounced against his pallor.  He opened and closed his mouth a few times without saying anything, but then cleared his throat and sat straight as though mustering his courage.    
  
“We were only talking, and then—” He shook his head, working to continue.  Each word looked painful, as though it were being wrenched from him with great force.  “It was a moment of insanity.  Nothing more.”  
  
“I did not know you had such—such inclinations.”    
  
Horatio managed to meet Archie’s eyes, but his cheeks turned a faint pink and he looked away again. 

“Neither did I.”  After a moment Horatio leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees to bury his head in his hands.    
  
Archie studied him, and pity crept over him as a clearer picture took hold.  He had been privy to a few unpleasant moments of self-discovery among the men he’d been with, and Horatio’s acute distress spoke of a similar revelation.  Having come to know himself at an early age, Archie had never thought on it much, merely accepted that some of his affections required a certain discretion that others did not.    
  
He’d seen a variety of reactions—relief, fascination, curiosity—and once, fury; when he’d endured a thorough beating at the hands of a young lord who, drunk and forward enough beforehand at a party on his father’s estate, had turned on him and tried to reclaim his perceived loss of manhood through vicious anger directed at Archie.  
  
Ah.  The fight suddenly made sense.  
  
Horatio spoke from behind his hands.

“It will not happen again.  I’m sorry, Archie.”  
  
Archie grimaced and tried to put his own hurt aside, feeling a keen empathy with Horatio’s unhappiness.    
  
“You know, you are not the first man to seek comfort wherever it is to be found.”  
  
Horatio said nothing, and Archie debated his next words.  
  
“It’s not wrong,” Archie said at last.  
  
“And yet I’d hang.”  
  
“That doesn’t make it wrong.”  Archie, his own valour now required, tried to speak with calm and honest words even while his heart thudded loud.  “I would doubtless swing several times over, but Nature will have her way.”  
  
Finally Horatio lifted his head, eyes large and dark with caution and surprise.  
  
“You?”  
  
It was so earnest and naive that Archie smiled at him, his voice turning gentle as though speaking to a child.    
  
“Horatio, I have loved you from the day we met.  Surely it cannot surprise you all that much.”  
  
It took a moment for it to sink in, and when it did, Horatio’s face screwed up in consternation.  
  
“I have— _do_ —oh, blast it.”  His fingers started drumming on his knee and he looked at Archie, pleading.  “That’s different.”  
  
“For me it isn’t.  It is one and the same.”    
  
His words sat heavy between them as Horatio continued to regard him solemnly, and only then did Archie realize the import of his admission. Archie winced at the sharp feeling of embarrassment to have laid such a thing upon Horatio.  He rubbed at his brow, as though he could wipe his thoughts and feelings away.    
  
“Forgive me.”    
  
Horatio’s fingers continued to beat an agitated tattoo on his knee, regarding Archie with unnerving focus.  He wondered if he had made a mistake, and if this was the time to abandon this pointless line of discussion.    
  
“Tell me,” Horatio said at length.  
  
“Tell you what?”  Archie frowned.    
  
“How it is the same.”  His fingers tapped and tapped, the same rhythm over and over again.  
  
Archie swallowed hard at the difficult question, which bucked all the deeply ingrained silence he had learned from his years of naval service.  One could speak of love, that was something all men knew; the bonds between shipmates went deep, and devotion was an understood, known quantity.  But desire—one was circumspect, could perhaps skirt the issue with a veiled comment, a carefully weighed action that could be brushed aside were it met with resistance.  To speak on it openly tested even Archie’s comfort with the subject.  
  
He looked at Horatio, who was still intent upon him.  There he sat, an open invitation delivered for Archie to speak his thoughts—his true thoughts.

“You are my dearest friend. I would not have anything change that,” he said slowly, checking Horatio for any reaction, but he had fallen into an intense silence, fiercely attentive to Archie.  He took a deep breath and continued, quieting himself to a hush as he spoke, almost frightened to hear the words aloud.  “But there are times when I think on how it would be to—to kiss you. To touch you as—to hold you, and—and more.”    
  
His voice cracked.  His usual eloquence failed him, all poetry forgotten.  Love was easy to speak of compared to this.  He took another breath and continued anyway.  
  
“You are my confidante, a trusted friend, and we’ve stood at each others’ side through so much—it makes it all the harder to bear, at times, to think that it will never be anything more than that.”  
  
Horatio gnawed at his lower lip, fingers still tapping relentlessly, watching Archie carefully.  Archie could stand it no longer, and rose from his perch on the sea chest.    
  
“Horatio, I beg you to understand, I ask nothing of you.”    
  
He crouched before Horatio, worried by his continued silence.  No response.  Sharp eyes bored through him, the only motion those damned fingers tapping.  He pinned Horatio’s hand to his knee, stilling the movement.    
  
“Damn it, Horatio!  Enough!”  
  
Horatio twisted his hand, catching Archie’s in a strong grip.  His hand was damp with sweat and very hot.  He leaned forward and stopped, hovering inches from Archie, and searched his face with a fixated intensity that only he could manage.  Archie held his breath and prayed with a ferociousness that he had never managed in all his Sundays at church that he was not imagining Horatio’s intent.  
  
And then, Horatio closed the last gap between them and kissed him, chaste and delicate.  
  
Horatio pulled back well before Archie was ready to let go.  He followed Horatio’s lips, but he lost his balance from his crouched position and his knees thudded to the deck, leaving him kneeling, half braced on Horatio’s lap. Archie stared up at him, waiting for some hint at what was to come, gripping his hand and fearing it would be wrenched from him as well.  
  
“I have thought on it also,” Horatio said quietly.  “I can’t help it.”  
  
He looked as though the admission were the most terrible confession of guilt.  Archie squeezed Horatio’s hand tight to reassure him, and his joints ached as Horatio did the same in return.  
  
Horatio glanced hesitantly to Archie’s mouth, and Archie was ready for him this time when he leaned in.  He cupped his free hand over Horatio’s cheek, completely captivated by Horatio’s sharp features beneath his palm, the lips moving against him, the flutter of long eyelashes that brushed against him.  Horatio was clumsy and clearly inexperienced, but he mimicked the move of Archie’s lips and tongue with conscientious precision until Archie was flush and warm beneath his uniform.  Archie was sure he’d never been so completely undone by a simple kiss in all his life.  
  
Beyond the boards and timbers shielding them, the thudding patter of feet on deck.  
  
_“All hands to quarters!  Clear for action!”_  
  
Horatio’s head jerked up, parting the kiss with shocking abruptness.  It took Archie a moment to realize why.  
  
The call sunk in.    
  
Archie swore.  Loud, long, and with all the energy of frustrated arousal.  When he stopped for breath, he looked up to see Horatio watching him with a fond, lopsided smile.  Archie laughed sheepishly and pulled his hand free reluctantly.  
  
Without a further word, they scrambled to their feet and laid their strength against the sea chest barring the door.  They dashed to find their stations, the stolen moment ending in the thundering drums of war.  
  
  
***  
  
  
The two ships bearing down on them were frigates flying French colours, and they were closing with fine speed.  White sails puffed out full in the wind, blinding in the Mediterranean sunshine.    
  
Horatio squinted through his glass and forced himself to relax and roll with the deck so that he could steady his point of focus.  He had to concentrate.  He had to think of something beyond the roar in his ears, and the tingling feel of Archie’s lips on his, but his head felt like it was in a fog that was slow to clear.  
  
He could make out the blue and white dots that were the uniformed officers on deck, who were no doubt looking back at them through spyglasses of their own.  Slowly the sting of the wind and battle readiness cleared his haze, and Horatio’s mind tuned in sharply to the situation.  
  
They were in a race now; the headlands of the Strait of Gibraltar were in sight. The the port where three of His Majesty’s vessels were stationed was still over the horizon, but in about an hour they’d be spotted by the lookouts.  At least one ship would be in port at any given time and would be able to lend the _Indefatigable_ a hand, but the enemy ships were going to be upon them in half an hour, no more, and Horatio doubted there would be the opportunity for reinforcements to reach them in time for it to matter.  They were on their own.  
  
They waited, the whole ship taught as a spring.  Below, the redcoats were in orderly platoons, weapons primed and ready.  The gun crews were in place, silent for the call.  Horatio held the deck with the senior officers, ready to relay orders as needed, wishing he could steer the battle with his bare hands and ticking off each painful minute until the fray began.    
  
The two ships danced around, tacking to try and flank the _Indy_.  While the French had the advantage of numbers, the wind was with the _Indefatigable_ , and so the success of their trap would come at the price of a fight perilously close to British reinforcements.  
  
The French fired first, the cannonball sending a small geyser of water airborne a mere fifty feet from their bow.    
  
“Here it comes,” Horatio heard Eccles mutter under his breath.    
  
“Steady,”  Pellew returned.  “Let them do the work for us.”  
  
Another tense minute of silence, and another ranging shot, this time overshooting, sailing between the main and foremasts and missing the rigging by some miracle.     
  
“Get the best man port side to target that ship.”  Pellew ordered, and Horatio relayed the message below.  
  
Horatio could make out the name on her now— _Sibylle_ , styled in scrolling letters with a pair of golden-haired figureheads bracketing it to either side.    
  
The vibration of the cannon shook the deck a minute later, and through his glass Horatio saw the rattle and shudder of a sail tearing through.  Pellew bared his teeth in a victorious sneer.  He gave the order for as steady a course as they could hold, and let the port side gun crews take their long range shots as they came to bear.  He turned his attention to the other ship.  To keep their steady course meant allowing the other the time and space to flank them, but Horatio knew that from the beginning it would be an unavoidable certainty.    
  
She was closing fast.  This ship, _Courageuse_ , was making good speed and would have them to broadsides in minutes, forcing them to turn and face them on, giving _Sibylle_ the chance to trap them in from the other side.  Horatio gripped the glass so tight his fingers ached, watching the sails for any sign of their turn.  Thus far she was headed on a true course for the _Indefatigable_.  When she did turn, they’d have a precious minute to echo her movements before their stern would be vulnerable to her broadside attack.    
  
A cry from below, and Horatio whipped around, but it was one of victory.  He spun towards _Sibylle_ , spotting the smoking hole in her side.    
  
“Port side!  Fire as you bear!”  
  
Horatio echoed the order, which was carried down to the upper and lower gun decks, and _Indy_ began to rattle and tremble as the guns roared.  It beat on Horatio’s ears like drums until it became like an irregular heartbeat matching his own thrashing pulse, which raced like a frightened rabbit.  He wanted to be at the wheel, to tug at the sails, to point and load and fire the guns, all of it at once.  If he could be the ship too, he would.  Anything to make it happen _faster_.  
  
“She’s turning, sir!  _Courageuse_ is swinging around to starboard!”  
  
The cry came from the rigging, and Horatio snapped back to the other side.  Sure enough, there she went, bowsprit sweeping around with pointed grace and terrible, efficient speed.  Pellew bellowed the order to turn them, and the guns fell silent as _Indy_ swung around to protect her vulnerable stern.  
  
There it was—the French had _Indefatigable_ bracketed between them, and to find the wind _Indy_ would have to sacrifice the power of her broadside in the battle, running and hoping she wasn’t sunk in her flight.  
  
They should fight.  Stand, and fight.  They could take them, with the right timing.  He felt sick to his stomach, and he clutched both hands tight around the glass to keep them from shaking and disturbing his vision, knowing it was a matter of minutes before his sword would be in his hand and he’d be cutting a swath through men whose only crime was to be born on the other side of this war.  But Horatio had been born an Englishman as much as they had been born French, and so fight he would.  Any moment Pellew would give them the order to prepare to repel borders.  
  
“Strike the colours,”  Pellew bellowed.  
  
Silence fell on the deck.  Horatio lowered his glass and stared up at Pellew, his predictions grinding to a halt at the abrupt contradiction of reality with his thoughts.  
  
Eccles turned to Pellew, lost for words.    
  
“Sir—“  
  
Pellew waved him off, and stepped forward to lean over the quarterdeck rail.    
  
“I said strike the colours!  Get them down, now!  Reef the sails, slow her down.”  
  
A silent deckhand reached for the ropes and down came the ensign.  Half the deck crew were turned to the closing French frigates, the other half watching the quarterdeck with cautious faces.  It was as though the low rumble of thoughts on French gaols and prisoner rations could be heard aloud.    
  
Pellew turned to Eccles to confer, and Horatio, stood at the bottom of the gangway, was not privy to their conversation.  They’d be boarded in minutes, with _Sibylle_ and _Courageuse_ already slowing and pulling into position to bring _Indy_ to heel.  He was burning to know what they were—  
  
He nearly laughed aloud when the thought occurred to him, but he couldn’t stop the wild grin.    
  
Of course.  The ship was a floating army base.  It was a _lure_.  
  
Any ship who dared to try and board _Indy_ today would be in for a terrible shock; they would never expect three hundred redcoats to swarm from her like angry ants.  It put them at even odds with both ships, instead of at a two-to-one disadvantage.  But strike her colours, and the other two would lash themselves alongside without further gunfire.  Take the ships, and keep _Indefatigable_ to a minimum damage.  
  
Horatio fairly hopped in place when it came to him, and he turned to the gangway, already anticipating his order.  
  
“Mr. Hornblower!”  Eccles looked down at him, and then frowned.  “My compliments to—wipe that damned smile off your face!—my compliments to Major Furlong, and will he join us on deck.  Quickly!”  
  
“Aye aye, sir!”    
  
He was down in a flash, sprinting to the wardroom through the mess, past the eager, anxious faces of redcoats awaiting news of the battle that shook and shivered their housing, without any way to know what was happening around them.  Furlong was clearly waiting for the call, and he was at Pellew’s side as quickly as Horatio had run to get him, dragging along a pair of lieutenants behind him.  
  
The plan was swiftly set, and the platoons below were evenly divided to port and starboard, queueing in triple lines along the mess and to the top of the gangways for a swift exit.  They stayed low, hidden from watching glasses, bayonets at the ready.      
  
When Horatio took up his station again by the foot of the quarterdeck, both French frigates were near enough he could see the faces leaning over the sides, and her gun ports loomed large, but silent.  Crews were readying ropes to board her.  They were still out of earshot, however, and Pellew took to the time to address the crew.  The officers assembled the topside watch, and they stood at uneasy attention, attention divided between the looming frigates and their captain.  
  
“Hold until I give the word.  When we’re in position, we board them, fast and swift.  The redcoats will divide to port and starboard, and we’ll take ‘em by numbers!”  
  
The tension was so high that none of the men so much as gave even a half-hearted hurrah.  Seeing the colours down had rattled them all, and whether there was a plan or not, the tide of a crew’s mood couldn’t be so easily turned.    
  
The frigates drifted closer, and Horatio held his hands behind him tightly to keep from wringing them.  He couldn’t stop the slight bouncing on his toes though, until a sharp look from Eccles, now standing next to him, brought him back to himself and he locked himself into proper attention.    
  
One of the ship’s boys came scampering up the gangway with Archie close behind, pushing through the columns of redcoats to get on deck.  He tumbled to a halt in front of Eccles, pulling himself to attention.  
  
“Reporting as ordered, sir,”  Archie said, pulling himself to attention.  He was vibrating with tension and the same eager fear that Horatio felt.    
  
“Mr. Kennedy, Mr. Hornblower,” Eccles said with a nod.  “When those ships know our game, our biggest problem will be the grape shot from the main deck guns.  Kennedy, take _Sibylle_ , Hornblower, _Courageuse_.  Take a four man crew apiece, and get those guns out of commission as fast as possible.”  
  
“Aye aye, sir,”  Horatio said, Archie echoing him.    
  
“Choose your men, and be ready.”  
  
Eccles turned and dashed back to the quarterdeck without waiting for their acknowledgement.  Horatio looked to Archie, whose eyes were brightly shining with a manic hue.  Sitting on the sharp edge of panic and excitement himself, Horatio knew Archie was struggling with the same balancing act.    
  
Their argument, their confessions, the kiss—all of it seemed like years ago, not something that had transpired less than an hour before.  Now they were to race directly into the fire in opposite directions.    
  
Perhaps they would see each other again, on the other side of this battle, or maybe one of them would be left to mourn the other.  Should they both die, none of what had transpired today would matter to anyone, as the only two people who knew of it would be dead.  Horatio found a macabre peace in thinking of this secret being taken to the grave with them both.    
  
But God help him if he didn’t wish he could kiss Archie again before the battle.  A final indulgence, to match this voyage’s set of questionable decisions.  Not doing so was all the more difficult for knowing Archie would welcome it—had welcomed it already, and the matter had barely begun before it had ended.    
  
Wrong or not, somewhere in the course of those few seconds with Archie, his guilt and fear had trickled away into nothing, leaving only longing in its place.  
  
The way Archie looked at him, he seemed to know Horatio’s thoughts.  Archie blew out a shaky breath, his warm grin unsteady with nerves and excitement.    
  
“Well, Mr. Hornblower.  God go with you.”  
  
“And with you,” he answered automatically.  
  
Archie offered his hand, and Horatio took it.  It was thank you, goodbye, good luck, and I love you, all in one swift move.  Archie’s lip trembled slightly before he sucked in a breath and shook himself, chuckling lightly with embarrassment.    
  
Horatio wished he could do more than shake his hand—it was utterly inadequate in the circumstances.  
  
But circumstances being what they were was precisely why it must be just a handshake, and standing here staring at Archie would not change anything.  He released Archie’s hand and turned away abruptly, closing the door on distracting sentiment.  There was no further time to lose.    
  
He dashed off, already sifting through names and faces to select his boarding party crew, and squashing the desire to look back one last time.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Horatio fights his battles (including the emotionally stunted ones), resolution is achieved, and Archie makes his move with all the grace, patience, and romance of a teenaged boy finally getting what he wants.

_Courageuse_ had not one, but two deck guns going in succession, strafing the _Indefatigable_ and mowing down men like so much wheat.  The scream of fighting and dying men rose to fill the gaps between the thundering guns.  
  
Grissom and Stropp were dead, cut down in the first moments on the foreign deck.  Stanton and Pentercost were flanking Horatio still, and the three of them cut their way through the fray to get to the deck guns.  
  
A gap-toothed French sailor leapt at Horatio with a howl.  Horatio flung up his sword and slashed at him.  A gash opened from his temple across and down his cheek and mouth, and his face split along the red line like a fruit bursting, over-ripe.  Horatio dodged as the man fell, clutching at his face and screaming.  He couldn’t pause—they had to make the guns.  
  
“Come on!” he cried, and they advanced again, struggling through the throngs of men battling hand-to-hand.  
  
The crew of the _Courageuse_ rightly knew that the carnage they could cause with the deck guns was their best chance of evening the odds and bringing down the overwhelming number of invading forces on their decks.  They were loading and reloading in alternating turns, the two guns going with regularity. A platoon of French marine guards lined and defended them, bristling with guns and bayonets at the ready.  
  
With two men of his men down, a frontal assault was bound to fail—would have failed regardless, with the line of guards between them and the guns.  He needed to get behind them.  Horatio spun and looked around, and then looked up at the mast towering above them.  
  
He shielded his eyes as he squinted up, marking the—  
  
“Look out, sir!”  
  
Pentacost grabbed Horatio from behind by the scruff of his neck.  He pulled him to the side and thrust his gun past Horatio’s head.  The bang stunned Horatio’s right ear and he started with a full-body recoil from the gun.  Only then did he see the French officer charging straight for him, sword poised to run Horatio through.  The officer staggered to a halt, the sword dropping from numb fingers as he clutched the gushing hole in his chest.  His eyes were wide as he gurgled for air and collapsed to the deck.  
  
Horatio knocked Pentacost’s grip away, righting himself.  He whirled on his two men, who both took a step back with strange, cautious looks on their faces as Horatio glared at them.  His ear rang painfully.  It didn’t matter, they had to stop the guns.  
  
“Up!  Get to the yardarm!” he shouted.   “Move!”  
  
They scrambled for the rigging, running with the haste of men pursued by the Devil.  Horatio climbed after them.  His balance shifted unsteadily, far more than the swaying deck of the _Courageuse_ could account for.    
  
If this worked, they could have the guns down in another minute or two.  
  
  
***  
  
  
On the _Sibylle_ , the deck gun crew had Archie and his men pinned down.  Having given up on their own crew, one of the guns had turned on _Sibylle’s_ own deck, leaving every man for themselves before the indiscriminate fire.    
  
Archie pressed his back to the hull of the boat slung on deck, cringing and squeezing his eyes shut as the sharp rattle of grapeshot scored the far side, sending splinters flying.  
  
A charge at the guns between rounds was their only hope—a fruitless one, but all he had.  Maybe one of them would reach the gun crew and cut them down.  It would take time to find others to take the gunnery crew’s place, and then others could swarm them.  They just needed to lead the charge.  
  
Archie readied himself to give the order, trying to stop the shaking muscles that made his legs feel like rubber.  He wasn’t a coward.  This was his mission.  He could, and would, do this.  He wasn’t going to spend the entire battle cowering behind a boat, as much as he wanted to.  
  
He opened his eyes and took a deep breath.  Before him _Indefatigable_ loomed close at _Sibylle_ ’s side.  Beyond her, smoke rose from the deck of the _Courageuse_ , whipping and drifting in the sharp ocean breeze.  
  
He wasn’t a coward.  He wasn’t.  He could do this.  He stared across the battle haze, squinting in the wind and bright sunshine that drew shafts of light through the smoke.  
  
Maybe he could see Horatio, he thought, making his own frantic scramble for the deck guns.  Horatio, with his serious, studious attitude, striding up to the gun crews and demanding their surrender with such imperiousness that they lifted their hands and stood back.  Horatio took himself seriously enough that he could probably do it, too.  Archie giggled out loud.  
  
The man sheltering at Archie’s side whipped his head around at the sound to eye him, and Archie clamped his mouth shut.  He had to keep hold of himself.  
  
He took the breath to make the call, but paused;  unexpected movement in the rigging on the _Courageuse_ caught his eye.  A sail sagged at one corner, and then slumped, flapping wildly in the wind as its rigging snapped.  Another shiver, and down she went.  The giant sail tumbled, tiny figures casting it from the yardarm with force.  It slithered to the deck. From the positioning, he knew it landed on the deck guns.    
  
Archie grinned, baring his teeth.  Horatio, that clever idiot.  Of course he’d find a way.   Archie turned to the line of men huddled along the length of the boat, all of them hiding from the grapeshot.  
  
“On my mark, we go up!  Into the rigging!  We’re bringing down the sail on them!”  Archie screamed to his men.  “Ready, and—now!”  
  
He lost one man on the way up, but in short order they hacked the ropes free and dropped the sailcloth onto the gun crew below.  As soon as the barrels and gunners were covered, the redcoats still left standing took advantage to make their assault, shooting wildly and stabbing at the writhing mass of men beneath trying to free themselves.    
  
Archie slithered down the ragged nest of sawed-off ropes and landed in the fray, stabbing his own blade into the mass of a body beneath the canvas, barely hearing the strangled scream over the roar of bloodlust throttling his senses.  He roared and slashed, until nothing moved beneath him.  
  
In two minutes the battle for the deck guns was complete, and with that final blow, the ship fell in another two, with the last lieutenant standing offering his sword to a bloodied Lieutenant Chadd.  
  
Archie finally managed to loosen his white-knuckled grip on the hilt of his sword when he noted that the only movement on deck was those tending to the wounded.  He drew a deep, shuddering breath.  Gun smoke lingered in the air, and the stink of blood curled in his nostrils—it grew stronger and thicker with the heat, and the wind did nothing to drive it away.  He wanted to throw a boat over the side and climb in it, row far enough away to hear only the lapping of the waves and taste the salt tang of the sea air.    
  
And then, maybe he’d keep rowing.   For the first time in years, he suddenly wished he could go home.  The thought made him laugh aloud, the notion of home being any comfort to him now—no, he wished to be with Horatio; to sit by him, listen to him chatter about some point of interest, watch his face alight with his enthusiasm.  That was where comfort was found now.  And he’d find it soon, after he’d seen to his shipmates.  
  
He took a step but his legs buckled.  Archie sat heavy on the deck to keep from falling.  He would need to wait a moment for his legs to stop shaking before he continued on to help with the wounded.    
  
He closed his eyes and listened hard for the sound of the sea above the endless cries for help.  
  
  
***  
  
  
They brought _Sibylle_ and _Courageuse_ into Gibraltar’s harbour by sundown.  The two ships limped in ahead of _Indefatigable_ with hangdog disgrace.  Each would soon see a new name and crew, appropriated for service to the King, and French crews would spy them and know that another battle had been lost in this ongoing war.  A satisfying end to a journey that had been, by measure of prize money, a successful one.  
  
Horatio caught a glimpse of Archie as he returned from _Sibylle_ , relieved to see him well, if a little worn.  None of his glory-hunting grin this time, only fatigue.  Archie caught his gaze and smiled weakly before he made his way aft to receive his own orders.  
  
Everyone was dead tired from the long battle and the last leg into port, but Captain Pellew assembled the crew to order the troops disembarkation to begin, along with the battle repairs.  He promised them a make and mend once their duties were done, and that was enough to encourage the men.  They all powered on, scrubbing and polishing _Indefatigable_ from top to bottom, while the redcoats disembarked in waves, boat after boat coming to take them to their new posting, and the _Indy_ growing lighter with each departure.    
  
Horatio did not yet have the same satisfaction in the end of this journey, and knew he had one final battle to fight before he could call it done.  
  
All afternoon he’d tried not to let his mind wander to the subject, but it was like a nagging splinter that he kept returning to worry over.  He had precious little to occupy him, stood by with nothing to do other than make sure the redcoats didn’t fall in the water as they disembarked.  Even after nearly a month aboard ship, they were all useless at the simplest aspects of sea life, and he rather hoped one would fall in, just for the amusing diversion of it.  Instead, the disembarkation plodded along as per plan, jolly boats coming and going like beetles skittering across the bay.

He knew he’d gravely misused John.  He’d not only been made the vicious brunt of Horatio’s fear and frustration, but also been unfairly put at risk and punished as a result. Now that Horatio was through the worst of his shame and embarrassment, he could think clearly enough to recognize that John had done nothing to deserve that.    
  
He owed the man an apology.  
  
Horatio huffed with impatience at his nagging thoughts.  He wished he could set it aside and let the whole matter pass and let it be closed, no matter what last opportunity there was to apologize.  Instead his thoughts circled back and back again to the notion that he should at least attempt to make amends, until he gave up the pretense of indecision and kept an eye out for John among the faces disappearing over the side.  
  
Eventually John’s platoon shuffled on deck clutching their kit, all of them looking eager to see land again.  They milled about as they waited for the boat to secure to the side before they could load.  
  
Horatio’s conscience dogged him with louder and louder protestations until he took a step forward and cleared his throat.  His orders had been not to speak to any of the redcoats until Gibraltar.  Well, Gibraltar was right there.  It was stretching the intent of his orders, but it was probably a forgivable offense.  After all, he didn’t mean to hit him this time.  
  
“Mr. Kelly,” he said.  
  
John looked at him in surprise, then caution.  He excused himself from his ranks and came over to Horatio, but stayed off a distance—enough space, Horatio noted, that there could be no chance of their conversation being a private one.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“I wished to apologize,”  Horatio said stiffly.  John said nothing, and Horatio clenched his hands at his sides.  Strange that an apology could take more resolute bravery than charging straight at cannon fire.  “For our disagreement.”  He grimaced.  No, that implied shared blame.  He took a breath and relaxed himself, and met John’s eye directly.  “For my behaviour.”  
  
John glanced over his shoulder at his platoon, then back to Horatio.  He sighed, brow furrowed, and then at length he nodded.  
  
“Accepted.”  
  
“Thank you,” Horatio said.  He cleared his throat nervously, and on impulse, blurted,  “For everything.”  
  
John cocked his head curiously.  Horatio’s cheeks burned.  At last, John smiled.  It was the same charming grin he’d had when Horatio first spoke with him, the one that reminded him of Archie’s easy friendship.  
  
Horatio’s mouth twisted in a wry smile, finding that the warmth of that expression still drew him in.  Now, however, the feeling it evoked was easier to identify.  Many things made sense in retrospect.  
  
“Indeed,” John said.  He looked aloft for a moment, taking in the rigging and sails, and then back to Horatio.  “You and your ship have a safe voyage, Horatio.”  
  
Horatio nodded, buoyed by a sense of relief.  He wasn’t certain he’d expected his overture to be accepted—it had been offered as a balm for his own conscience more than anything.  But perhaps concerns between men were easier to wipe clean when the relief of still standing, whole and in one piece, in the growing heat of the Mediterranean sunshine, filled their hearts and minds with good will.  Even if they were never destined to meet again, Horatio was grateful to have no hard feelings between them.  It was more than he deserved.  
  
The boat was safely moored now, and John quickly rejoined his platoon and climbed down the side, shooting Horatio a last look before disappearing over the edge.  The boat pulled away to shore, and while Horatio kept an eye on him, John did not look back.  It was as it should be—chapter at an end.    
  
He didn’t know why he felt sad.  He shook his head, as though he could knock the feeling from it.

The disembarkation and repairs marched on, and many long hours later, when he’d been on his feet so long that his last sleep seemed a forgotten dream, Horatio staggered down to the midshipmen’s berth and had barely the presence of mind to strip off his uniform jacket before crawling into the hammock.  Bracegirdle was already asleep and snoring with prodigious volume, but it made no difference.  He dropped off so quickly that it seemed his feet had barely left the ground before he was unconscious.  
  
He was vaguely aware of noise, and cracked an eyelid.  Archie was climbing into his hammock, head to foot with Horatio’s own.  Archie looked over at him, so tired his face was pale and shadowed.  Even so, Archie smiled.  
  
“Glad to see you,” Archie said.  
  
Horatio, glazed over, too close to sleep to rouse himself fully, hummed an agreement.  It was good to see him, and he felt a sense of peace at the familiar sight and feel of Archie at his side.  But the grasping dark was already dragging him down again.  He was so, so tired.    
  
He felt Archie’s hand slip into his with a comfortable grip, and Archie tucked their hands together into the fabric of his hammock so they would stay joined.  Horatio smiled, all his usual hesitation and embarrassment forgotten in the half-twilight of his doze, and drifted off again.    
  
  
***  
  
  
Archie woke slowly.  The sway of the hammocks was gentle in the sheltered harbour, and he relaxed into the motion.    
  
His shoulders and back ached from a near full twenty-four hours of labour and fighting, and he was glad of the rest.  He shifted and stretched, glorying in the feel of knowing nothing raced for his attention, and he could languish here for a few minutes without guilt.  His arm was restricted, and he glanced down.  Horatio’s hand was still clutched in his, now gone hot and sweaty as they’d slept, tucked tight to Archie’s side where he’d left it.    
  
He’d been unable to forgo at least some connection with Horatio.  Selfish, but something he’d found inescapable after a long day, and the constant memory of Horatio’s lips on his resurfacing at the most inopportune times.  He’d needed something, so he’d taken it.  Horatio’s soft smile and the ease with which he’d slipped back into sleep had soothed his nerves on the choice.  Neither of them had moved in their deep sleep to break the contact.  
  
For his part, Horatio was still asleep, his mouth open and his head tilted towards Archie.  Beyond him, Bracegirdle was slipping back into his uniform, quiet as he could.  
  
Archie blinked in alarm.  Bracegirdle.  Dead asleep when Archie had entered their berth, he’d not given Bracegirdle a thought, and he himself had been too tired to think of anything else than his own comfort.  
  
“All better, then?”  Bracegirdle whispered.  
  
Archie said nothing, but raised an eyebrow.  They both looked to Horatio as he took a deeper breath and rolled his head, stirring into wakefulness.  Bracegirdle shook his head with a teasing grin.    
  
“I’ll give you some time.”    
  
Bracegirdle turned for the door.  Archie frowned as the man turned back to him and gave him a wink.  Archie’s mouth dropped open to protest, but Bracegirdle held up his hand.  
  
“Archie, no need.  It’s fine.”  
  
And with that, he was gone.    
  
Archie tipped his head back and looked up at the planks above him.  Anthony Bracegirdle—merciless gossip, decent human being—or perhaps hopeful romantic.  Who knew if he was certain they were already involved, or just hoping.  Stranger things happened aboard ships; some men turned a blind eye while others bellied up to intrigue and gossip with an ale in hand to watch the show.  God knows he’d experienced both attitudes in those darker days when Simpson ruled the wardroom.  
  
Best not to think on that.  It was well shuttered in his past, and he refused to let it come back.  Either way it was with Anthony, thank the universe for small mercies, that he should have a few private moments to steal with Horatio.    
  
Beside him Horatio stirred again, and his eyes flickered open.  
  
“Archie?”  
  
His voice was thick with sleep.  Archie could see the moment his mind came fully awake—he tugged at his hand, freeing it from Archie’s hold, and his eyes darted around the cabin, taking in his situation.  Always cautious, always aware.  
  
“Where’s Bracegirdle?”  
  
Archie opened his mouth to tell him, and then switched directions at the last moment.  Horatio would die if he knew Bracegirdle even suspected a thing.  Best leave him blissfully unaware.    
  
“On deck.  Said he needed air.”  
  
“Hm.”    
  
Horatio rubbed at the palm of the hand Archie had been holding, lost in whatever thoughts were racing through him now.  His brows were drawn together in a dark line—fretting, then, as he often did.   Horatio worrying was like the wind blowing; it might be a storm or it might be a soft breeze, but it was nearly always there in some form.  Archie had grown used to it; most days were soft summer breezes that required little hardship, and he weathered the gales with the same fatalism as he did Nature’s capriciousness.  
  
But when the worry—or was it fear?—centred on him, he was hard pressed to dismiss his concern.  There was no doubt in his mind that Horatio’s thoughts were on the last time they’d been alone here together.  God knew his own were.  He climbed out of the hammock, agitated and eager to move.  He was tempted to make some kind of joke to lighten the moment, but nothing came to mind.  Instead he opened his sea chest and started digging, grabbing out the book of verse.  He’d read a bit, embrace the meditative effects of the familiar text, and let Horatio work through his brooding.  They could talk when Horatio was ready to leave the privacy of his thoughts, as nothing ever came of trying to pry things from him that he wasn’t yet ready to give.  
  
He only hoped that whatever Horatio was chewing over in his thoughts, it wasn’t that the kiss had been a mistake.  He already knew that whatever Horatio wanted he would bow to, but he’d much rather carry on their friendship without a broken heart.  
  
He straightened and stopped short.  Horatio had climbed out from the hammock and was facing him.  Horatio wrung his hands and glanced at the door, then spoke hesitantly.  
  
“Archie,” he said finally.  
  
But he went no further.  Instead he looked away and blew out a breath, expression pinched, his cheeks a faint pink.  Archie smiled at that, having always found Horatio’s tendency to embarrass so easily a very endearing trait.  
  
At Archie’s smile, Horatio seemed to relax, his own dazzling, relieved grin making an appearance.  He took a few steps towards Archie, then stopped, glancing at the door again.  His expression waffled again, locking into flustered confusion.  
  
“What you said before, when I—when we—hm.  Is it alright if I—“  he cleared his throat, and Archie smiled wider, unable to stop himself.  “May I—Archie, if I could—“  
  
“God’s teeth, Horatio,” said, finally snorting with laughter, nerves and the ridiculousness of it all getting to him.  “Stop talking.  It’s painful.”  
  
Horatio scowled at him, his pride pricked at being laughed at, but it was tempered by a nervous eagerness that coloured his whole presence.  Archie stepped into Horatio’s carefully maintained sphere, closing the breach, and that was all it took to overcome Horatio’s hesitation.  He ducked his head to meet Archie in a kiss.    
  
It was sweet, and soft, and Archie closed his eyes and let it happen, his head swimming.  God, how he loved this utterly silly, brilliant man.    
  
Horatio pulled back and placed his hands on Archie’s upper arms, thumbs worrying at the fabric as he examined Archie carefully, checking the repercussions of his action.  Whatever he saw in Archie’s expression—stunned joy, no doubt, or perhaps the sharp and desperate hunger that was rushing through him—he smiled at it.  His eyes darted to the door again.  
  
Mouth dry and heart pounding, Archie indicated his sea chest.  
  
“We could bar the door again.”  
  
Horatio nodded, and they lifted it carefully into place, setting it quiet on the deck.  Horatio had barely straightened before Archie grabbed him and kissed him again.  Horatio grunted in surprise at the suddenness of it.  
  
Archie was not a man given to much patience or restraint in anything he did, and now that this was allowed him, he pursued it with reckless force.  Horatio stumbled back under the onslaught, gasping, hands fluttering and finally setting on Archie’s waist.    
  
Horatio’s legs bumped against the chair, and, still kissing him because he couldn’t bear to stop it for even an instant, Archie shoved at him until Horatio sat on it with such force that the woodwork creaked.   Horatio’s mouth was red and gasping, and Archie caught it again, straddling Horatio’s lap, taking his head in both hands and kissing him as though his life would end if he did not.    
  
Horatio seemed overwhelmed and yet enthusiastic, and the sound of his rasping breath made Archie burn.  Years—bloody years—he’d wanted to hear that sound.  He wanted everything at once, could barely think past the raging torrent of selfish desire, wanted to touch, taste, feel everything about Horatio as quickly as possible.  
  
He shoved a hand between them to pluck at the buttons of Horatio’s breeches and work his hand inside, shifting and grasping at the fabric with impatience to set it out of the way.  Horatio’s eyes widened and he gave a choked cry into Archie’s mouth as Archie closed a hand around him.  
  
“Quiet,” Archie admonished in a hushed whisper, conscious of their dubious privacy.    
  
Horatio nodded, fingers gripping tight at Archie’s waist, and he squeezed his eyes shut tight, squirming at every shift of Archie’s hand, his face a mask of concentration.  Archie kissed Horatio again just because he could, Horatio’s lips slow to respond, shaking with his effort to maintain his silence as Archie touched him.  Gorgeous, beautiful man, and oh, he’d dreamed of this so many times it was hard to believe it was actually real, and Archie loved him more than he could ever say.    
  
He moved his hand up and down on Horatio, awkward in the confines of his partially undone breeches, and Horatio shuddered, his teeth clenched and lips drawn back.  Despite his best attempts at silence, he made sharp whimpering noises with each move of Archie’s hand, rocking with the motion.  
  
“Quiet, Horatio!” he hissed.  
  
Horatio looked at him with helpless desperation, eyes glazed, and Archie took his hand from Horatio’s hair to cover his mouth, holding it tight to silence him, accidentally forcing Horatio’s head farther back with the strength of it.  He wouldn’t let them be caught at this, and he could not stop right now if the captain himself came marching through the door with the marine guard at his back, so Horatio would damned well have to be quiet.    
  
Horatio’s eyes flew open and a muffled cry came from beneath Archie’s hand.  Warm liquid pulsed onto Archie’s hand, and Horatio’s whole body rigid with the force of it, his hips lifting off the chair and nearly upsetting Archie.  His breath was harsh through his nose and hot against Archie’s fingers, and he looked dazed, blinking up at the ceiling before focusing on Archie.    
  
Carefully, Archie removed his hand and Horatio raised his head, looking confused and utterly taken by surprise. The sight of Horatio gone blurry with pleasure was far too appetizing.  Archie kissed him hard, desperate for his own release.    
  
Horatio’s hands slid tentatively along Archie’s thighs to the front of his breeches, and Archie scrambled to help Horatio pull at buttons and push aside fabric.  Horatio pulled back from the kiss as wrapped his hand around Archie, alternately staring at his work and glancing up at Archie as though checking to see if he was doing it right, his face studious as whenever he put his mind to a task.  
  
Archie gripped Horatio’s shoulders tight and held his breath so long he grew dizzy.  The sight was absorbing; Archie’s legs astride Horatio, his hand upon Archie’s reddened, stiff prick.  He tried hard to bear the light grasp, the soft movements, which were entirely too gentle and made him writhe impatiently.  When Horatio tightened his hand and stroked down with one confident slide, Archie let loose a low groan.  
  
“Shush,” Horatio whispered.  
  
When Archie managed to pry his eyes open to look at him, he saw that Horatio’s mouth was tilted in a teasing half-smile, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.  He huffed a short laugh which ended when he had to choke down another moan.  Leave it to Horatio to go from complete ignorance to expert manipulation of any subject, even this.    
  
Impatient with the gentle teasing, Archie wrapped his hand around Horatio’s, urging him faster, gripping tight, both their hands sliding up and down, rough and hard.  He clamped his mouth shut tight and pressed his forehead to Horatio’s as his orgasm hit him with lightning speed, his body shivering.  
  
For one blessed minute, everything was calm.  Horatio rubbed his nose along side Archie’s, soft and affectionate.  Archie sighed.  
  
He felt a digging beneath his thigh.  Horatio was rooting a handkerchief from his pocket. Archie took it when it was offered, and carefully wiped himself and their hands before he pried himself from Horatio’s lap.  His legs were stiff and cramped from the awkward position. He had no idea what to do with the soiled handkerchief, so he handed it back to Horatio, who stared at it with equal consternation before shoving it back in his pocket.  
  
They each tended to their dress, subdued after the haste and fury of the act, Horatio with bashful silence.  He had gone inside himself, his gaze somewhere in the middle ground as he lost himself in thought, slumped in his seat.  Archie sat on the deck at his feet, their legs crossed and pressed against each other in a solid, undeniable point of contact.  When his silence went on too long, Archie moved his leg to bump against Horatio’s, trying to draw him out.    
  
“Alright?”  Archie asked.  
  
He refocused and fixed on Archie.  He smiled, faint but sincere.    
  
“Yes.”  
  
Archie’s chest ached as he smiled back.    
  
Horatio slid from the chair and they moved to sit against the bulkhead, Horatio leaning against Archie.  For once, Horatio’s body felt relaxed.  None of his usual whip-taut tension—just peace.    
  
Archie put an arm around him and kissed his temple, smiling into the wild mess of brown curls running riot.  He had a feeling the idiotic expression was going to be glued onto his face for the coming days.  Horatio made a slight grunt, but submitted to the attention without any signs of actual protest, and Archie chuckled as he continued to nuzzle at Horatio’s hair, and then his cheek.  
  
“Archie,” Horatio admonished, a laugh in his voice.  
  
“I can’t help it,” he murmured against Horatio’s ear, grinning as Horatio shivered at the vibrations against his skin.  “I love you.”  
  
Horatio pulled back from him a little, inspecting him.  
  
“You really mean that, don’t you?”  
  
“Yes, of course,” he said, puzzled.  He frowned.  “You don’t doubt it, do you?”  
  
“No, I don’t,” Horatio said, shaking his head.  “I just—I can’t quite understand why.”  
  
Archie rolled his eyes and cuffed Horatio on the head.  
  
“And that, you great idiot, is _exactly_ why.”  
  
Horatio huffed impatiently, unsatisfied with the answer, but his smile lingered around the edges of his mouth and eyes.    
  
“Hm.  Fine, have it your way.  I love you too, Archie.”  
  
“Of course you do.  No one can resist my charms for long.”  
  
Horatio glared at him and Archie laughed until Horatio shoved him and drove him to the deck, wrestling him over.  They giggled and rolled, Horatio catching Archie in a ticklish spot, and Horatio guffawed as Archie caught him back with a jab to his ribs.  It ended with Horatio over him, pinning him down and kissing him with clumsy enthusiasm, his face glowing and open and warm.  Archie was certain he’d never been so happy in his life as he was in this moment.     
  
He was going to owe Anthony Bracegirdle a month’s worth of rum rations in thanks.  
  



	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end.

The Channel was rough and choppy, but whatever storm’s edge teased at them was still far enough off that the _Indefatigable_ had no trouble making her way home.  Horatio rolled with the deck as they crossed the white-capped swells, and marked six bells.  Soon the first dog watch, and dinner.    
  
Archie was on second dog watch, so they could take dinner together tonight, which was something to look forward to.  He ducked his face into the collar of his greatcoat to hide his smile.  It was something he had to do more often these days, but he was learning to moderate himself.  
  
He was learning a great many things—the six weeks back from Gibraltar had been an exercise in more lessons than Horatio thought he could possibly learn in such a time.  
  
The first and most important lesson was that nothing really changed.  Not in the deepest way, at least.  Archie still walked with him in the hours between watches, chattering on with his usual enthusiasm, tolerating Horatio’s best attempts at verbal sparring, and always drawing him out into laughter.  If Archie’s touch meant a little more now and again, or if perhaps Horatio was more willing to lean into his affection, so be it—that significance meant nothing to anyone but them, and it caused no harm.  Their friendship remained, and the comfort it brought him stayed just as strong and simple as it had before.  He had never considered the Navy would allow room for a private life, but gleaned minutes here and there proved him wrong.  It did require some mental gymnastics—and the odd struggle with his cartwheeling moral compass—but he eventually found he could navigate both, regulations be damned.  Archie’s complete comfort with it was a constant reassuring balm, and so eventually he learned to relax.  
  
However, Horatio set himself a stricter set of rules for his self-discipline.  Not one to tolerate his own mistakes, Horatio had no intention of letting his mind wander when on duty—not when it seemed to only stray to Archie, and whatever stolen minutes they managed to find, leaving Horatio red in the face and hoping no one inspected the state of him too closely until he could calm himself.  It took some time, but eventually he reached a comfortable state of equilibrium, though his body still seemed intent on betrayal at the least unguarded thought.  
  
Archie, for his part, had quickly learned that teasing Horatio while he was on duty—even if he thought it was harmless—was the fastest way to see the ugly side of Horatio’s temper.  It happened once, and never again.  
  
He’d also learned that Bracegirdle was easily bought with rations, and that for the low price of their rum and enduring the odd knowing look, they could have some precious moments alone in the midshipmen’s berth without risk of prying eyes and loose tongues.  The horror of learning that lesson had nearly stopped his heart, until Bracegirdle pounded him on the back and told him to breathe, while Archie laughed so hard he fell out of his hammock.   When Archie had recovered he’d told Bracegirdle to piss off—which he had, cheerfully—and spent the next few minutes thoroughly reassuring a pale and shaking Horatio that there was no point arguing with good fortune, and to just accept that Bracegirdle didn’t give a fig what they did.  
  
Which had led directly to another lesson, which was that learning to keep silent was a continuous challenge, commensurate with Archie’s learning curve on the exact and precise workings of Horatio’s body.  Every time he thought he had a handle on his control, Archie discovered another way to thwart it.  To be fair, he was learning just as much on the other side of that equation—there’d been serious satisfaction in stuffing a handkerchief in Archie’s mouth to shut him up and still allow himself two free hands.  The expression on Archie’s face alone had been worth it, before his eyes had rolled back in his head.  
  
They made Portsmouth on the first day of the seventh week, and when orders came aboard, word was passed down there’d be time in port.  No leave for the crew—too much risk of desertion in a time of war—but the few officers aboard would be granted a day’s shore leave each.  
  
Archie leapt in the air and whooped at the announcement, nearly braining himself on the heavy beams above the wardroom table.  Horatio laughed, more contained in his excitement, but he felt the same.  
  
Twenty-four hours of freedom.  He’d never seen much use for shore leave in the past, but now he thought he could probably find something to do with his time.  He watched Archie chatter on with excitement to Bracegirdle and the newly-returned Mallory, already plotting their streak of debauchery.  In a glance unseen by the others, Archie winked at Horatio, who hid his smile behind his cup.   
  
It was a balancing act, he knew, but one that was worth it.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading along, folks. The kudos and comments have been dearly appreciated, and were very encouraging in blasting through the end of this. I met my goal of finishing this by the end of 2014, woo!
> 
> So I guess I successfully talked myself into shipping Archie and Horatio with this fic? I'm not sure how I got here, but nonetheless, here I am.


End file.
